Black Wasp
by Sabari
Summary: When Melvin Carver conspired to kidnap Robin, he thought it would be easy. But the fury of Batman, a sudden storm and unanticipated enemies at every turn threaten to ruin his plans. Probably AU. Non-slash/non-pairing.
1. Chapter 1

"_Your powers are much less than your dreams of reason would have you believe."  
><em>**-_Jurassic Park (_**Michael Crichton**)**

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><p><strong>Part 1 - The Only Simple Thing<strong>

"_Bring the bird and the bat will follow. It's that simple."_

Melvin Carver could almost hear his employer's voice now, barely a whisper above the current and very real drone of the airplane's engines and the dull, constant thumping coming from somewhere in the back, vibrating through the small plane, a fierce demand for the captive to be set free.

Simple. Ha!

Carver would have to get his employer a dictionary once he got paid.

It hadn't been simple to figure out how to draw the Batman out in the first place. And to get the bird had been even harder. Carver had hired petty criminals to break into banks and jewelry stores for more than a week. They had been consistently halted by Batman, but there was no sign of the bird.

It had been a waiting game. Carver had wondered where the bird might be since he clearly wasn't on the street. It had never once occurred to him that these people might well be living normal lives by day.

Melvin Carver certainly didn't. He was the same person, day or night, with the same objective. To be challenged, and get paid for succeeding. Pale, tall, thin, balding and pushing forty, Carver didn't look like an adventurer or risk taker. If anything, he resembling an accountant in his semi-expensive, slightly rumpled suits, suede shoes and carrying his signature black brief case.

The thumping became louder, more insistent. Carver wondered what, exactly, the captive thought he was accomplishing. The thumping was not accompanied by the cliched vocal demands to be let out, but it otherwise sounded like someone pounding futilely on the metal door.

Building the container had not been simple, either. Carver had been forced to spend money before having gotten his pay, and he didn't like it one bit. It had been a trial to find someone who wasn't overly talkative and interested in asking why Carver wanted a human-sized compartment with a lockable door built into the cargo area of his plane.

Actually, human-sized was a slight exaggeration. Carver had experience as a trapper and he knew that the best way to confine an animal was not with steel bars or strong rope, but a small space. The container was thirty-six inches deep, twenty-four wide and twenty-six tall. It was bigger than Carver had wanted, but he wasn't sure how big his 'animal' was before capture and they couldn't build the container _after_ catching him, so Carver had ordered it built a little on the large side.

After all, this wasn't an animal, but a human being. This wasn't like carrying a crocodile which, given a few inches of wiggle room, could bodily smash its way out of just about anything.

Getting the ventilation right hadn't been simple either. There needed to be air, Carver's employer wanted the cargo still alive and kicking on arrival. But the ventilation needed to be done in such a way as to provide no avenue of escape. There could be no screws accessible from the inside, no sharp edges, nothing which could be pulled apart or otherwise detached. It had to be solid.

Carver had not allowed the builder to skimp. He knew well that Batman was a renowned escape artist and it was no stretch of the imagination to assume his sidekick was every bit as proficient. Perhaps even more so, being as he was much smaller than Batman.

The little imp had been carrying a vast array of small items on his person. Rendered unconscious at capture, the bird hadn't put up a fight when his utility belt was removed, nor when Carver searched him. He'd found more than one set of lock picks, hidden in multiple places. One in the bird's left glove, another in the right boot, still another sequestered where the cape and suit connected at the shoulder. And that hadn't been all he had. Robin had been carrying birdarangs, a small knife in his left boot, several smoke pellets in different places, and a few things Carver wasn't sure off, all neatly keeping with the Bat and Bird theme. It had been no simple matter disarming Robin.

Carver wasn't certain that he'd gotten everything, though he'd looked thoroughly, even searching through Robin's hair for anything unexpected. He'd found a small needle hidden there, along with another very small pair of lock picks. Carver couldn't imagine what the needle was for. Possibly a weapon of some kind. It wasn't very big, but Carver knew that wasn't necessary. If you could hit a nerve cluster, that might well disable your opponent. It might also be used to paralyze, stuck in the right spot. But Carver hadn't heard of Batman or the bird using such methods, so it seemed unlikely.

It had taken so long to take away the boy's toys that he had started to rouse by the time they were ready to lock him inside the plane. By the time they were trying to stick him in the container, Robin was ready to fight back. Though his ankles were bound and his hands tied behind his back, the bird was far from completely helpless. He had his whole body to work with.

Carver was reminded of trying to put almost any animal in a crate. They somehow seemed to blow themselves up bigger than the space they were going to be stuffed into, flipping and twisting and contorting into shapes which simply did not fit into the container.

Robin did the same. He refused to fold up and thrashed in the grip of Carver and the two men his employer had sent to assist him. It was soon evident that Robin, half the size of Batman, was nevertheless immensely strong.

He had thrashed wildly and kicked strongly with his legs, alternately flopping like a fish and writhing like a snake. More than once he went crashing to the floor, which elicited more than one grunt as the wind got knocked out of him. Then Carver and his men would pick Robin up again and resume trying to stuff him into the cage, which increasingly seemed too small for what was being put inside it.

At one point, Robin had thrown his head back and his skull had cracked against Carver's teeth, splitting his lip and chipping at least one tooth. It had also jolted Carver's head. He'd lost his balance and fallen down, and his neck ached where it had been forced to strain to hold his head up when Robin hit against him. There was a bruise on Carver's chin where Robin's head had also connected.

One of the other men had kicked Robin in the side in retaliation. Carver had set the man straight. You don't get revenge on a creature trying to survive, to escape capture. You must respect something with so tenacious a desire to be free. Besides, such retaliation is wasting energy unnecessarily. And, with a struggle such as this one, you may need every bit of it before the day is through.

Robin had been on the floor at that point, glaring up at Carver. Robin knew who the leader was. It wasn't surprising. Even animals understood the leader of the pack. More than once, Carver had been stared down by the most ferocious predators on the planet, who had picked him from a crowd as the source of their torment.

"I don't see why we can't just drug him again," one of the thugs had grumbled.

"The first dose was higher than it should have been," Carver had replied critically (the thug had been the one to measure it out), "Another shot of it might do damage. Our employer would not approve of that. And, by the way, you will be explaining any injury our cargo obtains, especially that bootprint you're bound to have left in his side."

Robin looked like he wanted to know who their employer was, but he didn't ask. Instinct must have warned him that Carver wouldn't have answered. Besides, he was panting by this point, beginning to tire from this struggle. Robin had no energy to spare on idle chatter and stupid questions.

Carver was actually pleased to see how much Robin was fighting. Such struggling indicated that Robin felt it was his only chance at escape. It would have been most disconcerting if he had quietly submitted to being stuffed into the small, dark chamber reserved for him.

Though the fight was almost over, it was still not simple. Robin wasn't like a cat, which you could grab by the scruff and render immobile. He wasn't like a reptile or bird who could be made helpless by covering its eyes. But, like an animal, there didn't seem to be anything he would not do to escape. The first time Robin had been dropped on the floor was the result of his having bitten one of the thugs on the hand. Carver would be glad to be rid of these dolts.

He could have told them that putting their hands in biting range was a bad idea. People tended to think only animals bit and that the human bite was too weak to do any real harm. Robin had drawn blood, and probably could have cracked bone if he'd been trying. It only took about eight pounds PSI to break some of the bones in the human hand.

"He bit me!" The man had wailed after dropping Robin on his head.

Robin spat blood out of his mouth. He looked like he was disgusted, but there was no doubt in Carver's mind about whether he'd do it again.

"Wash your hands sometime, will ya?" Robin had growled.

That had been his final wasted breath. Since then, he'd had nothing to say. He'd just fought.

He had lost, of course. It was inevitable. But it had been no easy victory for Carver.

No, there had been nothing simple about this whole endeavor.

And then the plan, which had been carefully laid out and executed flawlessly up to that point -the plan that had included having to spend time and money trying to draw both bat and bird out into the open- the same plan which had been flexible, allowing for every possibility... that beautiful plan had gone straight to Hell.

Yes, they had intended for Batman to follow them. But he wasn't supposed to get there until _after_ they took off. They hadn't expected him to follow the bread crumbs so swiftly, so surely. It had suddenly come clear why Robin had been fighting tooth and nail when it was obvious he couldn't win.

He had known. How could he possibly have known? It didn't matter. He had known Batman was coming for him, that every second they spent on the ground brought Batman that much closer to them. That was why he had fought with every bit of strength and endurance he had, why he had used every trick he knew to avoid being stuffed in what amounted to a glorified metal box.

They had finally gotten him inside and locked him in there, whereupon he had set to kicking the door with his feet- which was the cause of the steady thumping. As they were preparing for liftoff, Carver had seen Batman enter the hangar, silent as a phantom.

For the first time, he'd been grateful for the stupid buffoons his employer had sent along. They were dumb enough to do as he asked when he told them to go take care of Batman. Carver knew they were little opposition for the vigilante, but they would slow him down long enough for the plane to get airborne. And that was all Carver needed.

He expected Batman to tag the plane with a tracking beacon, and that wasn't a problem. Batman would still have to go get his own flying machine and so he'd have to follow them all the way to their destination. There was absolutely no way he could catch up or stop them.

The plan was for him to follow.

They were three hours into their flight, only an hour from touchdown. The banging in the back had stopped briefly from time to time, then started up again. Each time the captive seemed to have redoubled his efforts, finding a new reserve of strength from somewhere. Carver was surprised.

Usually, once an animal figured out that it was making no progress, it would stop. Most animals wouldn't exhaust themselves. They'd fight and struggle and flail for awhile, but they would soon realize the futility and cease, conserving their energy. They might start up from time to time, just to see if circumstances had changed while they were resting, but they wouldn't fight ceaselessly.

Carver had figured the bird must be at least as intelligent as an animal. He couldn't even begin to imagine what the Boy Wonder thought he was accomplishing.

In reality, all the struggling in the world wouldn't help him now. They were high in the sky, and a very, very long way from Gotham. Even if he could get out of the container, even if he could overpower both Carver and the pilot, even if he could fly a plane, Robin could have no idea where they were.

No matter how dumb he was, surely Robin wouldn't be so foolish as to try and fly a plane over unknown airspace, with no idea where the next airport might be.

"Looks like we've got trouble," the pilot said.

More trouble? Carver grit his teeth and looked over at the pilot, who pointed up ahead. Sure enough, though the sky they were flying in was largely clear and growing lighter as dawn approached, the air up ahead was thick with dark clouds. Lightning flashed around inside the clouds, making them appear eerily solid and then momentarily making them disappear in the bright afterglow.

"Can we fly over it?" Carver asked, "Or maybe go around?"

"In this bird? Are you kidding?" the pilot retorted, then added, "Strap in. We're in for some turbulence."

_I hope our passenger doesn't get airsick,_ Carver thought.

He didn't need that problem on top of all the others.

A minute later, they were in the clouds.

It was a bad storm. The wind howled through the air, carrying with it swarms and swirls of thin half-melted ice, which shattered against the little airplane. Clouds scurried across the sky, dark and heavy, blotting out the dim predawn light. The airplane itself started to buck and pitch, fighting against the fury of the storm. The storm was bigger than Carver had anticipated.

"Can we fly through this?" Carver shouted into his headset.

"What?" The pilot yelled back.

"Should we turn around!?" Carver practically screamed.

"Too late!" The pilot told him, pointing towards the fuel gauge without looking at it.

A fresh burst of wind seemed to catch the ship in its vile grip, shaking it and trying to spin it in the air. The pilot fought the controls and the little plane struggled to comply with his unreasonable demands...

Robin could not see out and therefore couldn't know about the storm, but he sure knew something was up. Inside the metal container, Robin was bounced around like a pinball inside the cramped space. More than that, folded up as he was, each time he hit put strain on his muscles. When he slid one way, his feet banged into the wall and his knees were forced up so that the hit him in the chin. He felt like his back was breaking. Then he'd slide the other way and his head would collide with the opposite wall.

If he could only just get his hands free...

What the heck did that pilot think he was doing?

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><p><em>AN: _**_As usual, I'm going to say this story is probably AU, though not especially intentionally so. _****_As always, this story is completely written. As per usual, I will upload one chapter per day (Barring anything out of the ordinary. I will attempt to give readers a head's up via A/N). This was written for my entertainment, and is being published for yours. If you find yourself not enjoying it, then you should feel perfectly free to stop reading. Heap praise or criticism upon it, whichever may suit you best. Or say nothing about it at all, if you would prefer._**

**_Do feel free to point out typos, I check my stories before publishing, but I admit my imperfection and would welcome the opportunity to correct any mistakes I may have made._**


	2. Chapter 2

The plane fought valiantly, but the storm was tearing it apart piece by shrieking metal piece. Carver, clinging to his seat, found himself willing the plane to make it. The little aircraft wasn't meant for this sort of punishment.

Where had this storm come from? The weather had been predicted as being clear. This was most definitely _not_ clear. This was the furthest thing from clear short of a hurricane.

The battle, though fought fiercely, was a losing one. The plane lacked the power to match the terrible storm. Lightning flashed, then flashed again, blinding bright and then leaving all to the utter darkness and deeply rolling thunder. It didn't matter how close they were to being out of the storm. The fact was that they were getting no farther. The wind threw them up and back and down. They simply were not making forward progress. The interior of the plane was dark as the sky outside, but each flash of lightning illuminated the passengers of this ill-fated flight, showing them white-faced and wide-eyed.

Carver could see the sheen of sweat on the pilot's brow each time the lightning flashed. He was straining to see, fighting for control of the plane. But the storm was winning.

"C'mon, baby... come on, come on, come on," The pilot whispered to the plane.

It seemed that the engine groaned in response, or was that the very frame of this delicate craft? The wind, slashing from more than one direction in violent fits and starts, was flinging the plane around, pulling it in multiple directions, up and down, right and left. Like claws raking across flesh. The plane screamed like it was in agony, the pilot furrowed his brow.

The plane was caught by a first blast of icy wind, which sent it spinning. Another gust came from a different direction and the craft was aimed skyward, its nose pointing straight up. It started to fall from the sky, but a new wind struck it and flipped it over so that its nose pointed down and, at the same time, thrust it another several feet higher into the air.

There was a loud crash from the back. What Robin had been unable to do himself, the storm had done for him. It had thrown him against the door with enough force to smash it open. Robin tumbled out and went rolling across the floor, hitting the seats behind the cockpit. His chest struck against the frame of one seat and he cried out. Then, as the plane angled in a new direction, he slid backwards.

"Dammit!" Carver cried.

He was still thinking of delivery. If the bird kept sliding around loose like that, sooner or later he'd break his neck or cave his head in. He was no good to Carver dead.

Carver started to unstrap himself.

"Are you crazy!?" The pilot snarled, "Keep that harness on!"

"You worry about the plane," Carver snapped fiercely, "I'll worry about myself."

He removed the harness and got up. The plane spun and was tossed in the air. Carver was knocked off his feet and went sliding on his knees into the back. The plane bucked and Carver slid the other way. Robin crashed into him headfirst. Carver caught his arm with one hand and the armrest of one of the seats with his other. The plane screamed and the wind flung it about like a wolf shaking the life from a squirrel before settling down to consume it.

"What kind of plan is this!?" Robin gasped when he could.

Carver felt like punching him. It wasn't Carver's fault this stupid storm was ripping them to shreds. If anything, Robin should blame the pilot. It was his job to make sure the plane got from Point A to Point B in one piece. Besides, shouldn't the brat be grateful Carver was risking his safety to keep him from breaking his stupid neck?

Carver was losing his cool, and he knew it. Carver was typically cool under pressure, but this ludicrous scheme of his employer had rubbed him the wrong way from the start. He had felt that this was not a good idea right from the beginning. But his ego had forced him to ignore his instincts.

He wanted to pit himself against Batman. It was the challenge of a lifetime. Even to snatch the Caped Crusader's abhorrent offspring right from under his nose was thrilling. It had been a beautiful maneuver on the part of Carver.

The four men Carver had hired were enough to keep Batman distracted. Carver had one of the men enter the scene once the dynamic duo arrived and behave in a furtive manner, attracting the attention of the Boy Wonder. Carver had fired the sedative shot himself, nicking his target in the side of the neck.

Robin hadn't gone down instantly. He'd snatched the dart from his neck and taken several steps back, quickly reassessing the situation, trying to find who had shot him. But it was a matter of seconds before he dropped like a sack of bricks. Then it was just a matter of swiftly dragging him off and putting him in the trunk of the getaway vehicle before Batman noticed them. It had taken less than a minute.

And now everything was coming unraveled.

Carver pulled out his knife. Catching the gleam of it with his peripheral vision when lightning struck, Robin twisted around, moving like the storm itself. He swiftly reversed his position and kicked Carver's wrist with his right boot. He kicked harder than he meant to. The plane pitched him towards Carver at the last second, and then swept him away to the opposite end of the plane.

Carver cried out as he felt his wrist snap. The blade spun away into the darkness.

"You idiot!" he shrieked, "You bloody fool! I was trying to cut you free!"

"How was I supposed to know that!?" Robin shouted back, "You could have warned me!"

"You could have waited half a second!" Carver retorted.

"And have you stab me? No thank you," Robin snapped, "Besides, you'd have cut my wrist anyway."

Carver seethed. Robin was right. The plane was lurching around and he'd probably have slashed the Boy Wonder's wrist instead of the rope that bound him. But he wasn't about to admit that out loud. He hated that the kid was right. He hated that the plan wasn't working. He hated this job. But, most of all, he hated that Robin was showing coolness under pressure and the ability to rapidly assess the situation while Carver was losing his head.

Robin had seen, processed and reacted to the knife in less than a second.

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><p>Robin eyed Carver warily. Robin was having to breathe shallowly, courtesy of the earlier kick and more recent collision with the metal frame of the back seat. He was pretty sure he'd cracked a few ribs. His head was spinning from having been rolled back and forth across the plane. His hands felt numb, the rope would be biting into his wrists if not for his gloves.<p>

The plane slid him back towards Carver, and he did not resist. He knew that Carver was his only chance at survival. If he kept bouncing around the plane like he had been, sooner or later it would kill him. He had to get his hands free so that he could defend himself.

Carver caught him around the chest with his good hand and Robin gasped in pain. Points of light sprang into his vision, and not because of the lightning. Rotating his body and shoulder, Carver heaved Robin into the nearest seat and strapped him in. Then he staggered to the co-pilot seat and lurched into it, strapping himself in just as the plane shuddered and began to plummet towards the ground.

Robin didn't mind not having his hands cut free. He'd just about twisted out of the rope anyway. But he did mind being thrown into his harness with every jolt of the plane. Each buck of the plane reminded him of his injured ribs. Pain flared through him anew each time his chest hit against the harness.

He couldn't get his breath. Each lurch knocked the breath from him and he gasped, his vision swimming with black and white splotches. He felt like he was going to be sick from the pain.

But even now his mind was working. He had no desire to stay with these clowns a moment longer than absolutely necessary. He didn't care what they wanted him for, but they couldn't keep him. They didn't seem to want to know who he was. He still had his mask on. He had that to be grateful for, at least.

His identity being revealed wouldn't just put him in danger, but also most everyone in his life.

These guys didn't seem interested in that, nor did they want him dead. In fact, it seemed that they were willing to take absurd risks to insure that he stayed alive. Not that he minded, he just wondered why. Not that he cared about that. Survival and escape were first and foremost in his mind.

It was possible that he would die in the crash which he felt was inevitable. But, if that happened, he didn't need a plan. He'd be dead. So he needed to work under the assumption that he _would_ survive.

He knew Batman had thrown a tracer on the plane before it took off. He hadn't seen it, obviously. But he'd heard the commotion, with everyone yelling that Batman was here. He'd heard Carver give his instructions. And he knew Batman could take two thugs easy, but not before the plane was in motion. He'd have tracked it. That was more unobserved fact than assumption, Robin felt.

Robin looked out the window, but saw only black clouds. He wondered where they were, and where they were landing. Would it be a town, city? Or wilderness? He needed to consider the implications of each. He glanced around the plane, taking things in when lightning flashed. Were there supplies in this thing? If so, how much? Enough to survive for a day or two if they landed in wilderness and Batman was unable to reach them due to the weather conditions? There should be an emergency survival pack, but did this plane have one? Obviously these people were poor planners, since they were attempting to fly in a storm like this, which was utter foolishness.

He wondered if his equipment was somewhere on this plane, or if it had been left behind. He couldn't see it in the brief flashes of lightning, but he was having trouble seeing clearly. His eyes couldn't adjust fast enough, and his vision skewed each time his ribs were jarred.

The plane lurched, harder than any of the previous times. Robin cocked his head, listening to the engine sputter, whine, cough and -finally- die. The silence within the plane was breathless. The wind wailed outside, but it was nothing compared with the engine noise. And then the plane dropped.

Robin felt it in his stomach, saw the clouds rush past outside. And then they were below the clouds, and he could see a rough landscape, spires of rock, hills and cliffs, a wide valley. Trees hung in thick clusters, broken by rocky terrain. A river ran parallel to the plane's descent, probably twenty miles North of where they appeared to be crashing.

In the darkness of the storm and with the abruptness of their plummet to Earth, Robin couldn't make out what kind of rocks and trees he was looking at. All he knew for sure was that the ground below was not Gotham, nor any place like it. He was very far from home.

Robin had known that in his heart. He'd been trying to get out of the metal container for hours before the storm, his internal clock had told him so. He'd known he was far from home. But somehow, seeing the proof spread out before him in a vast, alien landscape made his heart sink.

Then they were among the trees. High-pitched, ear-piercing shrieks reported as the branches scraped and dragged against the plane, tearing it to ribbons. The snaps of the trees breaking under the weight were deafening. They had landed on a hillside, which the plane now rocketed down, in addition to falling through the trees. It was a heart-stopping journey.

And then they came to an abrupt halt as the nose of the plane dove into a large tower of boulders. The force of impact rendered Robin senseless. A flash of pain, then blackness, followed by nothing. Silence.


	3. Chapter 3

Robin's awareness came slowly at first. For a few moments, all he knew was darkness. Then came pain and the sensation of being trapped. He began to struggle, fought against whatever was holding him. It only caused more pain but, for a moment, he was panicked and didn't care. When escape proved impossible, he forced himself to stop trying and take a few deep breaths. He needed to calm down.

And then he remembered everything, including the crash. He opened his eyes.

Rain thrummed on the plane, and a rip through the top of the fuselage was letting it in. Looking over his shoulder, Robin saw the rain falling in sheets. The burst metal container was now open to the sky. Robin inspected his harness. It seemed undamaged. The ropes had snapped in the final descent and he pulled a hand free to remove the harness. Not that he planned to move just yet, but he was tired of feeling trapped. Besides, the harness pressed against him when he breathed and that hurt.

It was dark. Robin could barely see the pilot's seat in front of him. Peering through the darkness, he observed that both the pilot and Carver were still unconscious. Or maybe they were dead. Even though this mess was their fault, Robin felt a pang of worry for them. He didn't want them dead. They might be kidnappers, but they really hadn't hurt him to speak of. Sure, one had kicked him, but that one had been severely rebuked and later left for Batman to take care of.

A stab of bright lightning momentarily blinded Robin. A crash of thunder followed closely and Robin blinked rapidly to restore his sight. Even as he did so, he assessed his own injuries. Nothing serious.

His chest hurt, but not so much if he kept still and took shallow breaths. His head was pounding, but his vision was mostly clear. Nothing else felt broken, just badly bruised. His muscles ached from having spent three hours folded into a pretzel, but that would go away with time.

He moved his fingers, hands, wrists, arms and so on. One thing at a time, to see what damage there might be. Nothing exposed itself as broken or severely injured. Just minor aches and pains. Well, minor considering the situation. His shoulders were stiff and sent spasms of pain through him when he rotated them and his hands throbbed from having had their circulation cut off. But none of that was life threatening. Robin was more or less okay.

Having determined this, he slowly eased himself to his feet. Robin was cautious in part because he wasn't sure of his balance yet, but also because the floor was slanted. Everything was tilted, the nose of the plane was pointed down somehow. Robin put a hand up to the ceiling to steady himself as he made his way to the cramped front of the plane.

He checked the pulse of the pilot. Strong, steady. The other man was the same. They were simply unconscious. Robin let out a relieved breath. He was glad they were alive.

All the glass of the front third of the plane had been shattered, and rain came pouring in through the front. Leaves and branches had thrust in upon the cockpit, the leaves were broad and bright green, the bark was light, a sort of tan color with whitish flecks. Robin wasn't sure what plant they belonged to.

The wind that whooshed in and rattled the branches was piercing and icy, far colder than the air around it. This was much warmer than Gotham. The air smelled strongly of the rain, and all the pollens the storm had blown in, along with the plants it had torn up. They smelled different from the ones back home. It seemed strange that even the air felt different, like he was on another planet.

The sky above was dark, Robin couldn't guess what time it was. He couldn't see anything but trees and underbrush. The plane had come to land halfway down a steep slope, halted firmly by a collection of enormous boulders. The right side of the plane had caved in when it struck the rocks, the nose was leaning past them, aimed down at the bottom of the slope a good twenty-five or thirty feet down. It would be a treacherous climb down if that proved necessary.

Robin wasn't worried. He could climb anything. Even without his equipment, he could hop down, no problem. He wasn't so sure about his companions. The pilot was a bit tubby and he wheezed when he breathed (he'd been doing that before the crash). The other one was wearing a rumpled business suit and suede shoes. He looked like someone from the IRS. He was strong though, Robin had felt that earlier. Strong, sure. Like a weight lifter, not a mountain goat. The muscles were developed for one purpose, too specialized. Strength alone did not make an athlete in Robin's opinion. You needed agility, a sense of balance, steady hands and quick reflexes too. This man had been slow to react when Robin had struck to knock the knife from his hand.

Hopefully they wouldn't have to hike, because these guys wouldn't last a mile.

Robin turned from the cockpit and began to explore the rest of the plane, searching for an emergency kit and his own equipment, hoping to find both undamaged. He found two parachutes and the knife Carver (whose name he had learned when he was inside the container. Someone had called the man by that name) had been wielding earlier. Two parachutes, huh? One for Carver and one for the pilot? Besides Robin, there had been two other people on this plane before it took off, and they were presumably meant to come too. Real nice people, these guys. Robin smiled grimly.

In the very back, Robin found a box hooked to the wall. It was a First Aid kit. Close to emergency supplies, but not really the same thing. He also found a black duffle bag which turned out to contain his entire arsenal, including his yellow utility belt. Robin took the bag and moved to a part of the plane which still had enough ceiling to keep the rain out.

It wasn't easy to put the belt on and get everything back into place. Robin's ribs protested his every move. But he managed it, largely through sheer force of will. He'd felt naked and helpless without his equipment, having it made him feel much more confident and less like a victim.

Robin hated being a victim.

There was a loud crash overhead, sudden and deafening. Robin dropped flat on the floor, instinctively rolling for cover before he even really knew what it was that was coming at him. There came the maddening shriek of scraping metal, a crunch, and something large and dark came to rest atop the boulders, blocking entirely the view out the right side of the plane.

Robin recognized it for what it was almost immediately, a huge tree branch, probably having been cracked by their descent and now broken off by the wind. Even so, Robin trembled a little, the brief flash of fear having pumped his system full of adrenaline, prompting the fight or flight response, which now had nowhere to go and left him feeling nervous.

The branch moaned as the wind attempted to tear it from where it had become wedged. Sharp twigs stuck into the plane and dark, almost glossy leaves waved their pointed ends in the wind. Robin eased towards the branch for a closer look. He wished he was better at botany.

Robin knew a little about a lot of things, and he was constantly encouraged to learn. To not know some little detail about some obscure thing, be it plant or animal, literature or ancient mythology, could easily spell failure and even death in his line of work.

But Robin was only just getting started on his education and there were numerous gaps. He knew the plants of his home terrain fairly well, and had a pretty keen understanding of plants which were toxic or medicinal, certainly beyond anyone else his age. But this plant didn't immediately ring a bell.

That was both a relief and a concern. It probably wasn't poisonous. But it also wasn't something that grew anywhere near Gotham. However, it wasn't completely alien.

It took him a second, just looking at it.

"Some kind of oak... I think," he muttered to himself.

It wasn't like the oaks back home though. The leaf was darker and stiffer or thicker than the ones he knew, and it didn't have any of those bits that stick out... lobes? Something like that. The edges of the leaves were smooth, you could run your finger tip from one end of the edge to the other without interruption. Only the very tip of the leaf had a visible point.

Deciding he wasn't really getting anywhere with this tree branch, Robin chose to dismiss it as, at least temporarily, completely irrelevant to the situation at hand.

Up front, one of the men was stirring. Motion in the corner of his eye and a moaning sound alerted Robin to this. He crouched, reacting without thinking, then he relaxed. These men no longer posed much of a danger to him, they were in the same boat as he was. Same plane, actually.

At the same time, the rain was slacking off. Robin found he was able to see pretty well at this point, the sky must be getting lighter, the clouds were thinning out. The storm was passing. That was good news.

"SHIT!" the pilot yelled out, suddenly coming to the realization that he was in a crashed plane, hanging precariously from his harness, his face aimed at the ground thirty feet below.

The pilot began to struggle, though it was unclear what he was struggling against. He just sort of flailed around, reaching for his harness then letting go of it. He grabbed at the walls and pushed against the yoke, then let it go when that action produced a thick groaning sound from what seemed like the bowels of the plane. The pilot suddenly tore his harness free and fell forward, almost tumbling from the plane. Robin caught him by the flight jacket and yanked him back inside.

The man was heavy, and also startled by both the near-fall and Robin's intervention. He lashed out blindly, missing Robin by several inches. Robin backed away, giving the pilot room to get control of himself. For all he knew, the pilot might not even have known he was back there in the metal container. Robin hadn't seen the pilot before the storm broke him out. It was possible this man was innocent, at least of kidnapping. He was obviously a fool, having flown in such bad weather.

"Wh-what... where... who... um... where are we?" the pilot stammered.

"You're asking me?" Robin coughed, choking on barely suppressed laughter, "You're the pilot, shouldn't _you_ know?"

"We were... um... we were blown off... off course," the pilot replied, twisting around absurdly until he managed to obtain a sitting position, "I don't... I really don't know how... um... how far."

The man fidgeted, tapping his fingertips on his lower lip nervously, his eyes darting around as though he expected something to come flying at him from any direction. He was downright pitiful, but Robin was in no mood to be properly sympathetic. He was stiff, sore, damp from the rain, unsure where he was and in a bad mood. So he said nothing, just crossing his arms.

"The storm... it... it blew us...," he gestured with one hand, then stopped suddenly, his eyes widening as he finally began to realize the full implications of that statement.

His eyes widened as he looked at Robin. He seemed surprised by who he was talking to.

"It... blew us... off... off course," he whispered weakly.

"This thing have a radio?" Robin asked, somewhat impatiently.

"Yes. It does," the pilot said, gesturing over his shoulder towards the cockpit, "But I bet it doesn't work. I tried to report a mayday when we were going down, but... just got static."

Robin nudged his way past the pilot and leaned over to inspect the radio. He suspected that the radio might work, assuming that it had only been the storm which prevented it from doing so earlier. He was mentally kicking himself for not having looked earlier, while both the pilot and Carver were unconscious-

-Carver came to life suddenly, and with much the same enthusiasm for escape as both Robin and the pilot had earlier. Seeing someone crowding into his personal space, Carver twisted and kicked out. Robin was knocked forward, into the broken glass at the front of the plane.

He tucked into a ball to protect himself, which resulted in his rolling down the nose of the plane. He bounced off it and hit the slanted ground and just kept on going.


	4. Chapter 4

The fall seemed to go on forever. By the time Robin had realized what was happening, he had gained too much momentum to easily or safely stop. He knew how far he had to fall, and so let himself bounce and roll down the slope, yelping involuntarily when his back and ribs struck against rocks on the way down. He seemed to just keep falling, rolling and rolling until the world was just a great spinning blur and his ears began to hear a sloshing sound that was just in his head.

With a final, decisive thud, he hit the bottom. Dizzy beyond description, Robin slowly uncurled his frame and staggered to his feet shakily. The world dipped and swam before him and he stumbled backwards a step. As he did so, he heard a tremendous buzzing noise, which sounded like the loudest, angriest flying grasshopper the world had ever seen taking off from the grass.

Robin didn't immediately feel threatened, the sound was familiar and belonged to something not dangerous to him. No sooner had he identified it then something latched onto the inside of his right arm, about an inch below the elbow. It felt like a June bug grabbing him. Like pretty much everyone else, Robin didn't like being grabbed by June bugs, even though they were basically harmless.

The hooked legs digging into him were creepy and unsettling and gave him the sense that something much, much worse was about to happen. And then... it did.

Robin didn't really register the sting at first, largely because he didn't expect it. He was still dizzy, trying to find his sense of balance, and he had already been startled to hear a grasshopper and feel a June bug. It was too much to process that he'd been stung.

He struck at the thing with his left hand, intending to knock it off. He didn't really intend to kill it.

Then the pain from the sting sunk in. Robin felt his legs go suddenly rubbery and he found himself unable to even think. He sank to his knees as the thing stung right through his glove, getting him in the left palm. He shook his hand and snatched a birdarang from his belt. He nailed the creature with it, slamming it into the ground with an audible thunk.

Intense, almost electric-shock pain ran through him. He couldn't think. His mind was stuck at the point in time right before the sting, when he had been trying to reconcile the grasshopper/June bug thought. His head spun, or maybe that was the ground.

Robin collapsed onto his side, unable to even realize that he had been poisoned. He was still stuck with the June bug and the impossibility that it had stung him. He couldn't get anywhere. He couldn't get himself to move or think. He simply lay on the ground, shivering, not even trying to make the world stop spinning, just fighting to even stop thinking about the not June bug or grasshopper... thing.

His arm and hand throbbed, and it felt like electricity was being shot through him with every heartbeat. Breathing was suddenly a lot of work that took conscious effort. It was some time before Robin even felt the remnants of the rain dripping from the foliage overhead, cold and wet.

Then he became aware of the musty smell of the wet leaves he was lying on, a few blades of grass taking their turn at tapping him on the face. The dull movement of what he at first took for a pair of dead leaves blowing in the wind. He blinked.

He was looking at the birdarang, imbedded in the ground, its sharp point thrust right through the body of... well... Robin guessed it must be a wasp. But, if it was, it was the Wasp from Hell.

It was enormous. Absolutely huge. It had to be two inches from its head to its other end. But that wasn't the end of its body, because its abdomen was greatly curved, so much so that its wicked stinger was almost even with its second pair of legs. And what legs. They were long, powerful, grappling hook-like appendages. It was probably more like three inches long, maybe more. The body was black, or maybe a little blue hued. The wings, which extended past the end of its body, but looked much too small to lift it into the air, were a distinctive red-orange color.

Robin hadn't the faintest idea what this monster was, but it was disconcerting to be able to clearly see the stinger at the end of the animal's body, at least a quarter of an inch long.

Whatever it was, it was dead now.

Robin felt badly about having killed it, in spite of the severe pain he was in as a direct result of the creature's assault. It had only been defending itself. He must have almost stepped on it. That had provoked the first attack. The second was in retaliation for his having struck it. It probably would have simply flown away after that if he'd left it alone.

Robin had always liked animals, even the dangerous ones. And they usually liked him pretty well too. He knew animals, and knew that they rarely attacked without good reason unless they were sick or injured. He'd probably disturbed this animal's nest. It had probably been waiting for the end of the storm, and waiting for it to warm up enough for it to fly properly. He hoped he hadn't killed a mother animal, that it didn't have any eggs which would now die as a result of Robin's clumsiness.

But even as he felt sympathy for the creature, he couldn't help but shudder to look at it. It was a truly monstrous wasp, black as night. Huge, with grasping, clawing legs. He wondered what the thing ate. Something else dangerous, no doubt. All that equipment couldn't just be defensive, this was a creature designed for attack as well as defense.

* * *

><p>"What's he doing?" Carver demanded to know.<p>

He had recovered his wits by this point, but was struggling to free himself from his harness. The buckle had been severely dented and now resisted coming loose. Carver had a head injury, he could feel the blood trickling down the right side of his face and pooling in his shirt collar. But he wasn't worried about that. He was furious that Robin had fallen from the plane. He wanted that kid back. He mustn't be allowed to escape. There was too much at stake for him to get away now.

Carver wasn't thinking about where Robin might escape to, especially without any survival equipment. Carver's mind was absorbed in the horrific scenario of having to report failure to his employer. This whole damn plan was shot to hell and that bastard wouldn't have a bit of sympathy.

Carver banged on his harness in frustration. He wasn't about to let anyone call him a failure.

"He's still lying on his side," the pilot replied, peering uneasily over the end of the plane, "he hasn't moved in three or four minutes. Do you think he's dead?"

"How would he be dead?" Carver snapped, "He got up after the fall, didn't he?"

"Well yeah, but then he sort of... flipped out and then collapsed. You think he's dead?"

"Stop saying that!" Carver shouted, "He damn well better still be alive! I can't take a dead bird to my employer. He needs to be alive and more or less intact. He better be alive. When I get out of this-"

"Hey, he's getting up!" the pilot interrupted the angry monologue, "Looks like he's okay."

"What's he doing?" Carver demanded, thrashing and renewing his struggle with the harness.

"Um... he's just standing there... no, now he's.. he's taking his left glove off. I think he hurt his hand. He seems to be having trouble moving it. No... no, it's his right arm. He's having trouble getting the glove off."

"Why the hell is he taking his glove off!? This is no time to change clothes!" Carver cried.

"I don't know," the pilot shrugged, "but that's what he's doin'."

"Get my knife," Carver snapped, suddenly remembering, "Go get it!"

The pilot looked around, but it took him a bit to find the knife, which Robin had left in the back with the first aid kit. He handed it to Carver, who quickly slashed the harness and cut himself free.

"Stay here," Carver growled, "I'll go get Boy Wonder."

"Fine by me," the pilot shuddered, looking down.

* * *

><p>Robin's arm didn't want to work. Neither did his hand. He could feel the paralytic sinking into his system and wondered how powerful it was. He was feeling a little sedated already, all the things that had been concerning him no longer seemed very important. He knew he should go back to the plane and search the first aid kit for something that might help him, but that seemed like a lot of work.<p>

Robin looked at his hand. The flesh was beginning to swell and turn red, and it was hot to the touch. The electric shock of the stings was still stabbing through him off and on, but the initial mind numbing, heart-stopping agony of it had faded. Already he was having trouble recalling the exact sequence of events between his being stung and now. It was like his brain had simply stopped at the sting and had taken five or six minutes to get started again. Everything between then and now was sort of garbled and almost blank, like it hadn't really happened but been a kind of dream.

Robin's arm throbbed painfully. The wasp had gotten him in the muscle and he felt it with every movement of his arm. He rested his right wrist in the crook of his left elbow and the heated electric impulse throbbing was reduced.

He turned towards the slope and tried to convince himself that he ought to climb it. It wasn't too steep, or too far. At least... it hadn't been. Now it might as well be a million miles. Even standing up was feeling like more effort than it was worth.

Robin hoped he hadn't been lethally poisoned. If that was a deadly insect, he was in trouble. He was a long, long, long way from any help. But the fact that he didn't recognize the insect other than its outline was wasp-like was encouraging. It meant it probably wasn't deadly, just incredibly painful.

In all his life, Robin had never been in such severe pain as he'd been immediately following the sting. Even now it hurt pretty badly, but less than his ribs had when he was falling down the hill earlier.

Robin bet nothing would try to attack that insect after even one sting like that. He had been rendered completely helpless and very nearly unaware of anything outside of his own pain for several minutes. Plenty of time for the wasp to have made its escape.

He would never hear a grasshopper buzzing quite the same way again, he knew. That distinctive buzz was now a warning signal in his subconscious. His system had already memorized and internalized the noise as being something that immediately proceeded extreme suffering.

Mostly he remembered that the wasp had been so _fast_. Though his mind recalled the buzzing, the grabbing and the sting as three separate instants, they had followed one right after the other so rapidly that they might as well have happened all at the same time so far as his time to react went.

Carver was climbing out of the plane above now, backing out, feeling for his footing. Robin watched him with an odd feeling of detachment. He didn't feel like forming an idea about how he should react to this potential threat. He didn't have a clear thought about anything, least of all how dangerous this man might be. All he could think was that rock climbing in expensive suede shoes was ridiculous.

"Come on, Robin," he shook his head fiercely, "Focus."

He stared up at Carver, fighting against his own poison-induced apathy about the situation. He wasn't sure what to do. There was nowhere for him to go really. In his current condition, it was doubtful that he could overpower a mushroom, forget a tall, scrawny yet muscle-bound behemoth in a black silk tie. He was thinking in circles and swiftly getting nowhere.

He continued to just stand there, staring up at Carver, who had made it off the plane, but was having trouble finding his footing. Robin considered shouting directions, but he didn't want to startle the man and cause him to fall. If he couldn't climb, he probably also had no idea how to shield himself in a fall.

And then Carver's foot slipped. He tried to recover, but overcompensated. A moment later, the man was tumbling downhill in much the same fashion as Robin had earlier. Only Carver wasn't protecting himself with his arms and legs. He was sprawled out, clawing for purchase, but tumbling out of control. Robin flinched each time Carver bounced off the rocks, his vulnerable chest and stomach completely exposed to the unforgiving terrain as he fell.

Carver rolled to a stop near where Robin was standing.

Robin knelt beside him and checked for a pulse. Carver's hands and face were covered in scratches, his suit was absolutely torn to shreds. He had a new head wound which was bleeding profusely.

"Get off me, you little-" Carver's insult was brought to a halt as he gasped in pain.

He had been trying to sit up, but brought both hands to his head and lay down flat, gasping and moaning. He was undoubtedly dizzy from the fall, but Robin feared it was worse than that. He'd only gotten a brief look at the head injury, but it looked serious.

"Keep your damn hands off me!" Carver snarled when Robin touched his shoulder and tried to get another look at his head, "I said: get off!"

He lashed out blindly with one hand, then moaned and returned it to his head.

"You damn bastard," Carver growled between moans, "This was supposed to be _simple_."

"You should have known catching a vigilante wasn't going to be easy," Robin snapped back, in no mood to be yelled at by this man, or _anyone_ for that matter.

He sat back, cradling his right arm with his left and holding his hand palm up. Even so, the throbbing was getting worse, and the slashing electric pains were shooting forth more persistently.

This was great. Just great. Here he was, in the middle of nowhere, injured and with a cranky, wounded man to contend with. A man who had kidnapped him. Just above was a plane which might help them both, but neither one of them could get to it. Just wonderful.

"So," Robin spat irritably, "was this part of your plan?"

Carver just groaned.


	5. Chapter 5

"Any luck, sir?"

Batman looked up from his computer at Alfred's question. He shook his head with a sigh.

As Robin had thought, Batman had tagged the ship. He had then been following it when the tracking signal suddenly went crazy and then went dead. He had intended to continue on to the point where the signal was lost, assuming that someone must have found the tracer and destroyed it. But he had been confronted by a fierce storm, the likes of which the Batwing was ill-equipped to fight. With no other alternative, he had been forced to return to Gotham empty-handed.

Now he was trying to figure out where the plane had landed. He had looked up the records of many airports, and actually called some of them. None had a plane matching the one he was looking for. None of them had even been expecting such a plane. Batman feared that the plane had been aimed at a private airstrip, which would make it harder to find.

It was possible Robin would escape and call to let Batman know where he was, but that wasn't something which could be counted on. He had to keep looking.

He was furious. Furious with Robin for not being more careful. Furious with himself for not keeping a closer eye on Robin. Furious with the people who had snatched Robin from under his nose. Furious with the weather for impeding his rescue attempt. Furious with the airports for not having the plane he was looking for. He needed something to vent his frustration on.

"I'm sure Master Dick can look after himself," Alfred said reassuringly, but Batman saw the truth in his eyes. Alfred was worried about what might be happening to Robin.

"It's my fault," Batman growled, "I let myself get distracted, and they got away."

"At least we know he is still alive," Alfred commented mildly.

Batman paused. It was true, and he knew it. If they had wanted Robin dead, there were easier ways to accomplish it. Say by just shooting him. They had the opportunity. So what did they want with him? And who were they?

Batman had dumped the two thugs with the police. He hadn't heard back from them. Searching the police database had yielded no results. Whoever these guys were, they evidently either weren't criminals or had simply never been implicated.

"What do you suppose they want with our young friend?" Alfred wondered aloud.

"Heaven knows," Batman sighed, weary from having been up all night and almost sick with worry, "They could unmask him, Alfred. Making targets of all of us," he reconsidered, "That seems unlikely. Otherwise, they would have already done it. There would be no percentage in boarding a plane."

"If they do not want him dead and don't want to unmask him, why else would they want him?" Alfred wanted to know, but he didn't really expect an answer from Batman.

"I have no idea," Batman admitted reluctantly, "I simply have no idea."

He gazed at the weather report for the area where he had encountered the storm. Only now, hours after the fact, did the report mention the storm. It had taken everyone by surprise.

This led Batman to a rather uncomfortable avenue of thought. If even the weather man didn't know about the storm until it had arrived, it seemed the plane crew probably couldn't have either. If they hadn't anticipated the storm, or realized its severity before they were actually in the midst of it, they might well have gone down somewhere short of their intended target.

Batman gazed disconsolately at the map he had pulled up on his computer screen. The area was unpopulated, there were no roads for miles. It was a wilderness full of unknowns.

It was amazing, he thought.

Scientists and explorers thought they'd seen all there was to see, that people could be found everywhere in the world. Yet even here, in the United States, there were many places virtually unexplored, miles and miles of unmapped and routinely avoided areas where nobody lived. They were dangerous, inhospitable places, places which resisted the building of roads and houses.

For years, it had been predicted that soon, soon, _soon_, humanity would have only standing room. That there would be no wilderness left in the next decade, the next twenty years, the next fifty years, the next hundred years. And yet, here was a huge stretch of basically undiscovered country, right here in the United States. Perhaps people would run out of places to live, but not places to stand. They would simply refuse to stand some places which were deemed to dangerous or otherwise unpleasant.

Batman was only distantly familiar with the area in question. He knew a little about a lot, but this location was one which had never really come up in his work, day or night.

Funny how he knew more about places like India, Japan and Malaysia (to name a few) than a place in his own country. But, truth be told, he was really only interested in Gotham. Other locations were only of secondary interest. He mostly knew about them because he had trained in some of them, and some of the villains he'd fought with came from those places.

It was absurd, yet true that most school children could name more animals that lived in Africa than North America. And the adults were no better. There was a certain fascination about distant, exotic locales. Anything local seemed mundane and uninteresting. It was probable that most children knew more names of dinosaurs than animals which lived in their own state.

Batman was now studying the weather for the location in question. He needed to know what he might be trying to fly against. He also needed the lay of the land, if he was going to have to search that wilderness for his lost sidekick.

Today's weather report for that area said it had been a brisk thirty-four degrees Fahrenheit just before sunrise. Just a few hours later, it had come up to fifty-one, going up to sixty later in the day. That seemed like a pretty steep climb. Batman questioned the accuracy of this report.

No storms were predicted for the rest of the day, or for tomorrow, though the predicted temperatures were all over the place. It was like this area was determined to include every season in its daily cycle, from summer to winter and back again. Bizarre.

"Perhaps you should rest, sir," Alfred suggested hopefully.

He was right, of course. Batman needed rest. He needed to be alert to figure this out, to find Robin, to free him from whoever had captured him. But he resisted that suggestion. He didn't want to sleep. Not for a second. Not until Robin was back home where he belonged.

"Maybe later," Batman grunted.

"Master Bruce," Alfred said in his politely insistent way, "I am perfectly capable of monitoring these computers. I will let you know if I find out where he is."

Batman's shoulders sagged. Alfred was right, his logic could not be argued. There really wasn't anything more to do now except keep searching, something Alfred could do as well as he could.

"Alright," Batman said tiredly, "You win. Wake me if you find anything."

"Of course, sir," Alfred said quietly, "Will that be all?"

Batman allowed himself a small smile. Alfred often served as the only real constant in his life. Steady, unshakable, dignified and wise, Alfred was truly indispensable.

"Yes, Alfred. Thanks."

* * *

><p>"Will you stop that!?" Carver exploded, attempting to glare.<p>

But his head hurt and opening his eyes was too much of a strain. So he just sort of scowled with his eyes closed, not quite facing Robin.

"Fine. Geez," Robin grumbled, sitting back, "I was just tryin' to help."

"I don't need your help," Carver growled, "Besides, I don't believe you."

"Really? Why not?" Robin asked, somewhat sulkily.

He didn't really feel like talking, or doing anything. But he had been wasting his energy trying to ease Carver's pain as best he could, and get a better look at the man's injuries. Carver had done nothing so far except yell at him and push him away and complain that this or that hurt. And swear. The man's speech was liberally peppered with expletives.

"I'm the one who captured you, remember?" Carver spat, his brow furrowed in pain and eyes closed.

"Yeah, and the idiot who crashed this plane. I remember that," Robin hissed, "But none of that really matters now, does it? If you want to survive, you're going to need my help."

"Ha!" Carver scoffed, "Clearly you don't understand anything. You're still my prisoner. I only need you until I can hand you off to my employer."

"And who might that be?" Robin asked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Carver sniffed, then cursed for awhile.

It was unclear whether the language was directed at Robin or the pain Carver was currently experiencing. He'd already vomited once, he claimed it was the dizziness making him nauseated. Robin was concerned about that dizziness and its possible cause.

"You do realize we're lost, right?" Robin inquired, "That we have no access to civilization. You can't contact your employer," the pilot had yelled down that the radio was only picking up static, "you're not going to make it through the night if you keep plowing on like this."

"Shut up," Carver snapped, "Just stop talking, you bastard."

"Remind me to get you a dictionary," Robin retorted hotly.

"What?" Carver demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Swearing like that is a sign of a poor vocabulary," Robin said, "What, did you fail English as a kid?"

"Hey, screw you!" Carver snapped.

"Well that's mature," Robin said sarcastically.

He stopped talking after that for awhile. He felt exhausted. His brain was nothing but fog, his stings were hot, swollen and hurt like anything. The last thing he wanted was to fight. Actually, no. The very last thing he wanted was to move. It wasn't so much that moving any harder than usual, but it seemed like it just took too much effort. It wasn't worth it.

"We could both die out here," Robin commented with a sigh after a period of silence, "And maybe nobody would ever even find us."

He leaned back against the slope and stared up through the canopy of leaves at the bright sun, flickering distantly on the other side of the green curtain.

His ribs ached dully in time with his breathing, his stings throbbed with his heartbeat. His thoughts wandered unchecked, he'd lost his hold on his focus. He simply lay there, looking up, letting the warmth sink in, letting his mind drift and allowing the stiffness to work itself out of his muscles.

He knew it was better that he hurt. The alternative was worse.

A yellow and black wasp flew out of the undergrowth and came to land on Robin's boot. It was less than half the size of the monster that had stung him, its body was much less curved and its wings seemed more suited to its relative size. It sat there, flicking its antennae at the air and wiggling its tiny head.

Robin watched it. He didn't have the energy to do anything about it, and there was no reason to try anyway. The wasp flew off on its own after awhile.

Overhead, a blue jay scolded and a squirrel chattered. These were sounds Robin knew fairly well, but they were still different. It was like the air. It was the same air, but it smelled and even felt different. Even the wind was different. The squirrel and jay's voices were the same. The jay's voice was a little higher pitched than what Robin was used to, the squirrel's was deeper and more harried.

Robin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He couldn't go to sleep, he knew that. But it was all he wanted to do. His battered body was weary. He'd been drugged, beaten up, locked in a tiny box for hours, smashed around, crashed in a plane, been thrown thirty feet down a hill and finally stung by some kind of insect. He was exhausted, and all the will power in the world wasn't enough to keep him from falling asleep.

Carver didn't sleep. He simply lay in pain, secure in the knowledge that his employer knew their flight plan. His employer would be along shortly to make sure the package was secure. All they had to do was wait. Carver wasn't thinking about how they might have gone off course. Nor had it occurred to him that even a single night in the wild could be deadly, depending on the weather and what found you.

He was confident in his sense that the plan was going to proceed as intended. They'd just hit a little snag, that was all. It would all be straightened out soon enough, and then he would get paid.

It was as simple as that.


	6. Chapter 6

For a moment, it was unclear to Robin what exactly had woken him. The sky overhead was darkening, and he realized that the air was getting colder. It dawned on him that he'd fallen asleep. It could have proven lethal, given his current state. He closed his eyes briefly, thankful to still be alive.

Then he looked over at Carver, who seemed to be muttering to himself. But Carver's eyes were closed, evidently he'd fallen asleep too. Beside Carver, the blade which had impaled the wasp gleamed dully.

Robin wondered how long he'd been asleep. He stared up at the trees, trying to make out the sky between their waving branches. The sun seemed to still be up, but it was intermittent. Something was blocking it. Clouds. The wind picked up and Robin found he could smell it in the air. Rain. It was going to storm again. They did not want to be here when that happened.

Robin started to move to get up, rolling onto his side. Then he recoiled with a pained yelp. Everything was sore, his muscles had stiffened while he was asleep on the cold, hard ground. But, more than that, he'd forgotten the sting on the palm of his hand. When he'd pushed against the ground, lightning spasms of pain had shot through him, momentarily blanking his mind.

He shook it off quickly, finding it was less extreme than it had been earlier, and didn't last as long.

Having recovered himself, Robin sat up cautiously, every inch of him whining in protest. He stretched as best he could without jarring his ribs and then slowly stumbled to his feet.

Robin sort of staggered over and knelt beside Carver. He nudged the man in the back with his knee.

"Hey. Hey!" Robin spoke insistently, "Come on, you've got to wake up now."

"Leave me alone," Carver mumbled into the dirt, then swore a few times.

"Look, I get it. You don't like me. You think I'm your prisoner. Whatever. I don't care. But we can't stay down here. I have no idea how cold it's going to get once it starts raining or when the sun goes down. We don't want to get soaked. Now _come on_."

"Arrogant twit," Carver murmured, but he turned over and squinted at Robin, "What do you want?"

"I want to be warm and dry," Robin replied, "And, the way I see it, there's only one place where I can get that," he nodded uphill towards the plane.

"Forget it, Bird Boy," Carver grunted, starting to turn over, "There's no way."

"No way for you, maybe," Robin admitted, "But you won't know if you don't try."

"Listen to yourself wheeze, Wonder Brain," Carver snapped, "You can barely talk."

"I'm fine," Robin retorted, bristling, "It's you I'm worried about."

"Right. You're worried about me, the guy who kidnapped you. That makes perfect sense," Carver propped himself up on his elbows and cocked his head at Robin, "You want to know what I think?"

"Not especially," Robin rolled his eyes.

"I think you're hoping for my help up there. You think you can't make it alone, so you want my help. Well, take a good look, kid. I'm not climbing anything."

"I could climb up myself," Robin said, "It's only thirty feet. And it's nowhere near as steep as the side of a building. Hand holds are closer together too."

"What _are_ you babbling about?" Carver demanded.

"Quiet," Robin snapped, "I'm thinking."

Carver looked at Robin. He looked at the plane. He looked at the thirty foot climb between the two. He shook his head and coughed.

"What's to think?" Carver asked.

Robin didn't reply. In fact, he showed no sign whatsoever of having heard Carver.

"No," Robin sighed after a time, "It won't work."

"What?" Carver asked in some surprise, having thought their conversation was at an end, "What won't work?"

"I can't do it," Robin said, looking over at him, "I can't carry you up. You'll have to climb yourself."

Carver stared at Robin, wide-eyed. He was twice the size of the kid. It was obvious that Robin couldn't carry him. It was impossible. The very idea was absurd. More bizarre was that Robin had even been considering it. Not only was the notion itself ludicrous, it was ridiculous for Robin to be concerned with making sure Carver climbed up with him.

"What's the difference?" Carver wanted to know, "What does it matter where we are?"

"Maybe none," Robin admitted, "Maybe everything. A little water never hurt anybody. But a little water in temperatures near or below freezing can be deadly."

"What's your point?" Carver asked impatiently.

"It was just above freezing this morning when we crashed. If it gets anywhere near that cold again tonight... things could get very uncomfortable. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if we were both healthy. But you pointed out yourself that we're not. There's only so much punishment the human body can take before it can't take anymore and shuts down."

The words were chilling. More chilling than the cold wind which was beginning to kick up.

"I can't climb that," Carver said.

He expected Robin to say something along the lines of 'too bad for you' or something. But Robin just looked at him without saying anything. Then looked back at the slope.

The terrain was rocky, but loose and slippery with mud. There was very little sure footing by the look of it. Plants grew raggedly from the ground, their roots were jutting out and exposed as a result of the storm. It looked far more daunting from this angle than it had from above.

At least, it looked that way to Carver. Robin was good at calculating things from all angles. He had anticipated the look of the slope from the bottom. He just hadn't expected to be rolled down it. Nor had he expected to have his left hand incapacitated.

Robin moved his right arm experimentally and felt a stab of pain just below the elbow, where the sting had swollen to twice its former size and turned into an angry red welt with a dark dot more or less in the center, marking the point where the stinger had penetrated. It was more of an oval than a circle, having spread more up and down his arm than across. It was hot to the touch, and hurt to touch.

That would make climbing something of a nightmare, as would his inability to take a deep breath.

It was infuriating to be so close to shelter yet unable to get there. Because, on top of everything else, Robin couldn't just leave Carver down here alone. Not injured as the man was. Robin's own injuries merely made the idea of climbing abhorrent, Carver being stuck at the bottom in the open made it out of the question. It simply could not be done.

A sound from behind him made Robin turn. To his surprise, Carver was getting up slowly. Robin moved to help him but Carver pushed him away roughly.

"Keep your hands to yourself," Carver snapped.

"What are you doing?" Robin asked.

"We have to climb this damn mountain, right? You expect me to do that lying down?"

Robin opened his mouth to point out that this was hardly a mountain, but then he didn't say anything.

"Whoa," Carver swayed on his feet and put a hand out to steady himself against a tree trunk.

"I'll go up first," Robin said, "Follow my lead."

Carver looked like he would argue, but then said nothing. There was no point in fighting over absolutely everything. Besides, Carver needed to save his energy for the climb.

"Shouldn't you put your glove on?" Carver asked, nodding towards Robin's left hand.

"Can't," Robin raised his hand and turned it so Carver could see the swollen palm.

"Ouch," Carver commented, "What is that, a sting?"

He stepped cautiously over to where Robin was standing and examined the mark more closely.

"I nailed the bug that did it," Robin said, gesturing at the spot where the insect lay dead.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Carver said, after a moment's inspection of the sting and a casual glance at the 'nailed' bug in question, "Tarantula hawk."

"A what now?" Robin asked.

"Tarantula hawk," Carver repeated, "Otherwise known as the spider wasp. Big suckers, nasty sting. They're common in this area. What did you do to it? They're virtually non-aggressive."

"I think I may have stepped on it when you knocked me out of the plane," Robin replied.

"That would do it," Carver said, "They're nasty creatures, in spite of being passive towards people. They feed on nectar mostly. But when the female goes to lay her egg, she finds a tarantula. Her sting paralyzes it, and she lays the egg on the spider. The larva eats the spider alive when it hatches, saving vital organs for last."

"Well, if the spider feels anything like I did right after I got stung, it probably doesn't know the difference," Robin observed, "Because I wasn't really thinking or caring about much of anything. It doesn't even hurt as much as it did."

"You'll be feeling it tomorrow," Carver told him, "Nice feature of the sting. It starts to look better just a few hours after the sting. Swelling goes down and all that. But then it gets much, much angrier. Second day's worse than the first, not counting the pain immediately following the sting."

"And you know all this, because?"

"I know my insects," Carver replied, "Loved 'em when I was a kid. Especially the ones that lived in my area. Tarantula hawks were one such insect. My favorite until I was fourteen, when I decided I liked praying mantis better."

"Good to know," Robin said, "Now, you ready for this?"

"Absolutely not," Carver said.

Robin looked Carver up and down. He certainly didn't look ready. Paler than before, except for a dark purple bruise forming along the right side of his skull, with dark bags under his eyes and his hair full of twigs, Carver looked exactly like the crash victim he was. But Robin knew the truth beneath that ill-fitting suit that made the man look small and helpless. Carver was strong. Not just physically, either. There was determination in those dark eyes. Possibly enough to carry him through this.

Robin looked at the slope. He quickly located the most promising looking rocky outcrop and leaped easily up to it, landing light and graceful as a cat. He turned in place, as though the ledge was no larger than a dime and crouched down to watch Carver.

"Bastard," Carver growled irritably.

It took a moment for it to sink in. Carver couldn't leap like Robin. He couldn't cover the height or the distance, and he couldn't touchdown with such careful precision. Carver was probably seeing double at least. He probably couldn't jump at all. From his new vantage point, Robin picked out the best climbing spot and scrambled down to where Carver was waiting.

Carver glared at him.

"You did that on purpose," he accused.

Robin didn't even blink at him. He simply turned around and climbed up to the point he'd jumped to before. Then he stopped and waited for Carver to follow him.

Carver climbed awkwardly, seeming to feel for his footing more than looking for it. He slipped and nearly fell, but Robin darted down and caught him. It was no easy feat and put a tremendous strain not only on his ribs, but also both sting sites. He caught Carver with his right hand, sending stinging pain through that arm, while he balanced with his left hand, which sent fire through him.

Carver pushed him off as soon as he regained his balance.

"Will you just keep off!?" Carver snapped, "I don't need your help! I don't want your help and I don't need it! Get that through your thick skull. Grab me again and I'll break your arm!"

"Oh I see," Robin said, "You'd rather fall on your head again."

Carver just glared at him, grit his teeth and continued the climb. Robin scampered a few feet higher and waited patiently. It was obvious that Carver didn't like him. But Robin was reasonably certain that Carver's anger went deeper than that. Carver didn't seem frightened by all this, merely infuriated. He had lost control of the situation and he didn't like it one bit.

Robin's guess was dead on.

Carver knew things were out of control already. His earlier optimism about things coming back under control was already beginning to fade. They hadn't been all that far from their landing spot before the storm hit. Someone would have come looking for them. Carver's employer was not a patient man, and he knew the plane was on its way. But, if someone was tracing their flight path, they should have found this spot by now. It was beginning to come clear: they had crashed way off course.

Instead of being stuck for a few hours, it looked like they might be trapped here overnight.

That was bad.

Carver knew that Batman had tagged the plane somewhere. Therefore, he couldn't lose it simply from the plane going off course. It was only a matter of time. Batman would surely beat anyone else to the crash site. If that happened, everything Carver had worked so diligently for would be lost.

He had to find that tracer, smash it to bits and hope Batman hadn't already pinpointed this location.

He knew that Robin wouldn't be thrilled about that, and would resist. Carver would need the pilot's help to subdue the Boy Wonder, or maybe he would have to take the kid by surprise somehow.

Carver needed to regain control, and fast.


	7. Chapter 7

"Any luck?" Bruce asked.

He had come downstairs as soon as he woke up, and found Alfred still in the batcave.

"Unfortunately, no," Alfred replied, speaking with some reluctance, "It seems our plane did not land at any airport. At least, not officially."

"So it must have crashed," Bruce said, "Which means all I have to do is fly out there close enough to pick up the transmitter."

"Easier said than done, I'm afraid," Alfred told him, "There's another storm moving in."

"What? But the weather report-" Bruce trailed off.

"It appears they were wrong," Alfred said quietly.

"That storm looks bigger than the last one," Bruce said, looking at the report with a vague sense of unease, "Nothing will be able to fly in that area until tomorrow at least."

What he didn't say out loud was something even more worrying to him. It was going to get cold. Really cold. Perhaps not colder than it got some nights in Gotham, but certainly cold enough for someone to die of exposure if they weren't properly clothed. Especially if they were injured and suffering blood loss. The human body was such a frail thing and didn't stand up to much damage.

"What will you do now, sir?" Alfred asked.

"Go to work," Bruce replied, already starting to get dressed, "and try to find out who took my ward."

The list of suspects, taken at face value, was a lengthy one. The number of people who might try to get at Batman through Robin was exhausting to think about. But it was easily narrowed down. There were no riddles, no gimmicks, no jokes, no illusions, no magic. No, for lack of a better term, style.

That narrowed the list down considerably. There were not many villains who would fail to leave a signature or clue after having pulled off such a daring maneuver. Their egos and sense of competition against not only Batman but their fellow criminals simply would not allow it.

There had been no ransom demand either. That was most decidedly odd.

Who would take Robin and not make any sort of declaration or demand?

It was a question worthy of the Riddler himself.

* * *

><p>Water ran in rivulets across the outer skin of the plane. Rain poured in through the torn fuselage at the back, splashing against the metal container, then running its course as gravity dictated out the damaged side of the plane. Great, loud drops of rain struck the panels with their many informational dials, bounced off the yoke and pooled on the floor, to slowly seep out through the cracks.<p>

The middle of the plane was comparatively dry, and it was here that the three survivors were huddled, wedged between the front and back seats to keep out of the wind, which somehow kept finding its way inside. It was the wind which was most punishing, making the air feel twenty degrees colder than it was and driving the rain in stinging pellets.

Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked across the sky, which had gone black once more, the clouds hanging so heavy and thick it seemed like you could just reach up and touch them.

Robin and Carver were lucky to have gotten inside.

Just as they reached the top, Carver had lost consciousness and started to fall. Robin had caught him awkwardly and almost immediately found himself in serious trouble. Injured and tired as he was, Robin couldn't possibly drag Carver back onto stable ground. Worse, he had no hope of being able to hold onto Carver for long. Remembering the pilot suddenly, Robin had turned and tried to enlist the man's help.

The pilot was peering over the nose of the plane worriedly, but refused to come out and help. He was too frightened. His refusal was accompanied by the first cold drops of water and the first deafening crack of thunder, so loud and deep the ground itself seemed to vibrate.

The force of the sudden wind had nearly plucked Robin right off the slope. So easily could he have found himself falling again, falling right back down to where he'd started, making all his efforts in vain.

Then suddenly the pilot was beside him, taking the weight of Carver, easing the strain against Robin. Together they quickly dragged Carver to a level patch of ground and then maneuvered him into the plane. The rain had truly started by then, and they were soaked through by the time they finished.

They hadn't been cold while working, but began shivering almost as soon as they stopped. It didn't take them long to find the only dry and relatively wind free location in the plane.

"I thought you weren't going to help," Robin had commented.

"I wasn't," the pilot replied shakily, "But that thunder sounded like the voice of God Himself, rebuking me. I don't happen to believe in God, but it sure snapped me out of thinking only about my own safety. For a moment I believed in God. That's how scared I was."

Robin raised an eyebrow, but did not comment.

It seemed to him that anyone who could be frightened into believing in God, even for a moment, had probably always believed but simply denied it to themselves. It seemed highly unlikely that belief in God could be conjured by a moment of terror brought on by a roll of thunder.

He didn't want to argue about it. Whatever the man believed, or thought he believed, he'd come out at the last second, saving both Robin and Carver. That's what counted. It had never occurred to Robin that he could have saved himself by letting Carver fall. It wasn't in his nature.

You didn't become a masked vigilante by thinking of yourself before others. So deeply was that ingrained in Robin's soul that he hadn't even considered, hadn't even realized, the possibility of leaving Carver to die, even in spite of what Carver had already done to him.

The First Aid kit yielded little help, but Robin had done his best to clean and dress Carver's head injury. The closest thing he found to helping himself was a container of after bite, which he decided probably wouldn't be all that useful against the effects of a wasp sting.

Besides, the stings weren't feeling so bad at this point. The cold air had pretty much numbed any exposed skin and the redness was beginning to fade out. Still, Robin was a bit uneasy. Carver had said things were going to get worse. Much worse.

It occurred to Robin that he hadn't thought to ask Carver if the stings could potentially be fatal. Carver hadn't indicated that, the sting was meant to paralyze a large spider, not kill it. But, presumably, that was a single sting. What about two stings? Was it a sort of poison which didn't kill spiders but could kill people? Robin knew he didn't feel well, but he wasn't sure what cause he should attribute that feeling to. He had plenty to choose from.

Robin knew that many venomous creatures were not considered deadly because a single bite or sting wasn't enough venom to kill anyone. But these same creatures, administering a second dose in a short period could very easily kill. Robin decided not to think about it, and to act under the same assumption he had when the plane crashed: that he would survive.

After all, if he didn't, then it didn't really matter what he thought or did beforehand. But, if he had a chance of surviving, everything he did could be the difference between life and death.

Robin knew more about survival than the average person. But, what he knew above all else, was that a seemingly stable and relatively safe situation could turn deadly in an instant. For instance, right now they were uncomfortable, but far from being in a life threatening condition.

Even Carver, unless his head wound was more severe than it appeared, was in no danger of dying right now. But he needed a hospital, in case the injury was worse than it seemed. There was also the very real danger of infection, which could set in at a truly alarming rate. Most people thought of infection as being something that crept up over a period of days or weeks, only slowly killing its victims.

Robin knew better. It could set in almost immediately, and, if it spread fast enough, doom its victim within hours, even if it took days for them to die.

Robin's greatest concern was obviously Carver, but there were many other things which could go wrong and get them all killed.

The plane seemed firmly rooted to the spot, but enough rain could loosen the soil and somehow pitch them loose from their current location. A tree might fall on them in a storm as severe as this one was shaping up to be. The temperature might well drop to below freezing.

But the storm was doing some good. Almost without doubt, it was forcing animals into hiding. Whatever lived in this area, wherever they were, was almost certainly seeking shelter.

While animals were the last thing Robin needed to worry about, he couldn't afford to dismiss them out of hand. It was true that animal attacks were fairly rare in comparison with how much contact people had with animals, and most attacks were actually from pets or farm animals rather than wild ones, which preferred to keep their distance from humans whenever possible. But, even so, there was always the chance of finding yourself too near a den site, or in the territory of a hungry predator, near a wounded animal or in the jungle during some animal's breeding or birthing season. All of these could heighten an animal's aggression.

And, as Robin had just been painfully reminded, an animal didn't need to be big and powerful to take you down. After all, Robin had been completely incapacitated for a full three minutes by an insect no more than three inches long. Sure, it looked like a monster in comparison with its wasp relations, but it was a heckuva lot smaller than a snake, forget a wolf or bear.

As a rule, it was the small creatures that got you. They were the ones you didn't see before stepping on them. They slipped indoors easily, apparently without even noticing the change around them.

A cougar might be reluctant to set foot on an unfamiliar surface such as tile or carpeting, but an ant or even a snake either wouldn't know the difference, or simply wouldn't care. A sudden shout might startle a charging buck if you were lucky, but a wasp or bee was indifferent to such display.

At least this wasn't a jungle. Jungles were thick with life, especially of the insect variety. This wasn't exactly a desert, but the terrain was less welcoming than a true forest. Less foliage meant less life. And less life, meant fewer things to worry about stepping on.

But there was something decidedly bad about the storm, aside from the potential dangers.

So long as it was storming like this, nobody would be coming to find them. Robin wasn't worried about supplies. Chances were, they wouldn't be stuck long enough to die of starvation and there was water just a few miles from here, Robin had seen that while they were still in the air. Although, a few miles was suddenly a whole lot farther than it had seemed just a few hours ago.

But the real thing which concerned Robin, quite deeply actually, was that the storm would prevent Batman from coming and finding him any time soon. Depending on how determined and resourceful Carver's employer was, it was possible he or she would find them before Batman did.

And, for Robin, that was a huge problem.

"So what's your employer like?" Robin asked of the pilot.

"You've met him," the pilot nodded towards Carver, "I don't know who he works for, if that's what you're wondering."

Robin hissed through his teeth in silent frustration. Evidently, he was not going to get to find out who wanted to get their hands on him so badly that they went to all this effort and expense to get him, nor was he destined to discover exactly why they wanted him or what for.

* * *

><p><em>AN: **I wish I was just making up how it feels to be stung by a Tarantula Hawk. But I was stung by one, twice in two days. If anything, I'm downplaying it. Your brain literally seems to stop, like it's stuck in a feedback loop, for about three minutes or so. You simply can't think of anything except what you were thinking of in the instant you were stung. And the aftereffects are nothing to sneeze at either.**_

_**Nothing compares with those few minutes after the sting of the Tarantula Hawk. They say the body doesn't tend to remember pain, and I think that's true. You remember you were in pain, but can't necessarily conjure up exactly what it felt like. But I still remember the sting of the Tarantula Hawk. Even thinking about it can bring a ghost of it to reality.**_

_**And the sound of flying grasshoppers still sets me on edge, even to this day. Which is kind of a problem considering how common they are. Also, June bugs are more horrifying than ever. I'm really not adverse to bugs or the outdoors, but the Hawk left a rather permanent mark on my memory.**_

_**I do not recommend being stung by one. Ever.**_


	8. Chapter 8

Rain lashed at the plane, wind whipped across it. The fuselage groaned in the storm, the sound all but drowned out by the almost continuous slow rumble of thunder. Jagged lightning cut across the sky, brilliant white light, giving the world an eery glow.

Robin was curled up in one of the seats, Carver was stretched out on the floor. The pilot was seated in the other chair, staring out at the rain. Sleep was not possible.

"Where would you be now, if not for us?" the pilot asked.

Robin stirred but did not answer at first. He was moderately surprised by the question, largely because silence had reigned between himself and the pilot for more than two hours. It was once again night outside, the storm had raged since late afternoon, and seemed nowhere near being spent.

"That's a silly question," Robin said finally.

The pilot seemed surprised, but Robin merely looked at him pointedly from behind his black mask. Obviously, Robin could give no more precise reply than that. He would be in Gotham, obviously. Chances were, he wouldn't be out and about.

The truth was, he was at a crossroads in his life. His professors all said he was a bright kid. Many of them commented that he could really make something of himself. They seemed surprised. He supposed that was due to his point of origin. Because he was an orphan, a former circus kid no less, they assumed he lacked education and academic intelligence. In terms of these forty-and-fifty year-old people, Robin had lost his parents only a short time ago. But, in terms of how long Robin himself had been alive... it was a lifetime ago. He was a different person now. Well, perhaps not completely different.

The fact of the matter was, it might have been easier if he wasn't smart. If he wasn't good at nearly everything he applied himself to. Then he wouldn't have any options, there'd only be one sensible course for him to take. The mask would own him body and soul.

He had been an exceptional trapeze artist, even as a very small child. He had applied that talent and early training to his nightlife. Because he was smaller and overall much less intimidating than Batman, criminals often underestimated him. But Robin was, in some ways, more dangerous than Batman. This was largely because he was impulsive and often didn't think things through. He was fast, agile and a born performer, forever playing to an invisible audience even when capturing thugs and thieves. But he was not always as careful as he should be. He was more likely to accidentally hurt someone than Batman.

Robin's nightlife had also provided a stiff learning environment. You had to know literature, mathematics, chemicals and toxins, local laws, current events, history, mythology and basically at least a little of everything to deal with the many and varied characters which plagued Gotham. He had something of a head start on most of the kids he shared classes with.

Even without that though, he was a quick study. And he could do more than walk a high-wire. He could solve complicated math problems in his head, and fast too. He could intelligently discuss economics and world politics. There was almost nothing he could not do, if he wanted to. And anything he couldn't do yet, he could learn to do. He had confidence in that, and it was well founded.

Unlike most people he knew, Robin was not limited by one or two interests and a handful of unremarkable talents. There was no limit to what he could accomplish. He could go into almost any line of work he wanted. Heck, he could go to Africa and study lions if he wanted. Or take up archeology in Egypt, or anywhere else in the world. He had not only the abilities necessary for such things, but the resources and connections through Wayne Enterprises.

Not that he expected to get things for free. No, if he wanted to go off and do something, he intended to actually accomplish. Wayne Enterprises funded all sorts of things, and Bruce Wayne himself knew what Dick Grayson was capable of. It would be mutually beneficial.

But with all these options spreading before him, each more exotic and confusing than the last, Robin started to feel a little lost. He wanted to be what he was. He didn't want to give up his nightlife. But to be really good at any of these things he wanted to do, he'd have to.

Bruce had an advantage. He inherited his wealth and had people who could keep the company running. All he had to do was show up to meetings sometimes and form opinions about the direction of the company, things he wanted to fund and things he did not want to fund.

But Dick would need to make it on his own. Perhaps not entirely without Bruce's help, but the only thing he could possibly inherit would be Wayne Enterprises, and he had the feeling that wouldn't be up for grabs for a long, long time, in spite of Bruce's dangerous nightlife.

Sooner or later, he would have to make a decision. Did he want to be Dick Grayson? Or did he want to be Robin? Because, the way things looked now, he could not successfully be both for much longer.

"I'd be home, probably packing," the pilot said, breaking into Robin's thoughts.

Robin blinked and shook his head. His mind was wandering. In spite of his earlier sleep, he was still very much worn out. And, though the swelling and redness was virtually gone from both sting sites, he still felt dazed and weak from the poison the wasp had injected. It wasn't easy to focus.

"I knew, you know," the pilot told him, "I told myself I didn't. I'm just a cargo pilot. Usually for things not entirely legal. But I never want to know what I'm carrying. If I don't know, I can't tell anybody. More importantly, I can't feel guilty."

Robin blinked but did not comment. He knew that you didn't need all the facts about something to feel guilty. He could hear it in the pilot's voice. The guilty conscience was giving him fits in this stormy darkness, and he was about to spill his guts because he couldn't take it anymore.

Robin stayed silent and listened.

"Normally I'm expected to take off at a certain time on a certain day. But Carver wanted me to wait for his call. Very unusual. Next thing I know, he's calling me at my hotel, and it sounds like he's having a fit. He wants us to go now, and how fast can I get there? I honestly thought about not going. I've never worked in Gotham. That's largely your boss's doing."

Robin tilted his head. He'd never heard the relationship between himself and Batman put that way. He'd been termed as Batman's child, his pet, his shadow, and even sometimes he'd heard it spoken of it terms of military rank, with Batman as the leader and Robin as the subordinate. Technically his boss. But nobody had ever quite said it that way. Robin supposed it was as accurate as anything.

Certainly he took his orders from Batman. Most of the time.

"But work hasn't been so plentiful lately," the pilot went on, "Ordinary guys are getting scared. Crime done by anything less than raving lunatics is at an all-time low, even in places which don't have vigilantes. There's always the fear that one might suddenly appear in a new city."

Robin had never thought about the worries which must plague the common criminal. He supposed that was a legitimate fear. That one night while you're minding your own business, mugging little old ladies and kicking dogs, some creature of darkness will spring suddenly from the shadows and take you down. That was exactly the kind of fear Batman's theatrics were meant to provoke. Nice to know it was working. Neither Robin nor Batman saw much sign of it. Mainly because people who weren't committing crimes were of no interest to them.

When the world was drowning in crime, it was hard to notice one or two fewer common street thugs.

"So when Melvin Carver came to me, I was ready to listen. I was desperate," the pilot said, "I had just myself when I started out, but now I've got a wife and two kids. I had no money and no job opportunities, legitimate or otherwise. And Carver offered me enough money to pay the bills, to give me time to find a safer, steady line of work. It seemed like a good deal."

_Until everything went completely wrong and you crashed your plane in the middle of nowhere,_ Robin thought, his eyes narrowing.

"I knew about the modifications to the plane. I could tell it was supposed to house something alive. Carver kept talking about how strong it needed to be, that there could be no way out of it. At first I thought maybe he wanted to smuggle some rare monkey or something. That was uncomfortable enough. One thing to take stolen paintings and ancient artifacts, but a living thing?" He shook his head.

_More like drugs. You have to know that's what you were probably carrying most of the time,_ Robin refrained from saying anything aloud.

"But the more he talked and fussed and specified, the more I realized I wasn't going to be hauling any monkey or exotic birds. It was going to be a person. And not just any person. Someone Carver expected to try and escape. Someone who'd be damn near impossible to contain."

Robin knew this already. He'd been in that metal box. He knew how well made it was.

"And who would you be trying to box up in Gotham? It was too small for the Dark Knight himself, I knew that. And who'd want one of the loons in Arkham? You'd have to be insane yourself to want to turn one of those nuts loose. That left only one possibility: you."

Robin felt that logic was not entirely sound. But, on the other hand, the pilot had guessed correctly, and that was a little hard to argue with, so he said nothing.

"I knew for two days. When Carver called, I knew it wasn't the police he was worried about. I swear there was fear in his voice. I guess maybe they had more trouble putting you in the box than he anticipated."

_Or Batman got there faster than expected,_ Robin thought.

"I wanted to back out. Even aside from my own feelings about kidnapping, I wanted nothing to do with anything which might bring Batman down on my head. I don't need that kind of trouble."

The pilot was attempting to excuse himself. It was obvious he was desperate to wash his hands of this whole affair. Robin could hardly blame him, but it was a little late now.

"But I have to take care of my family. And this was going to be my last job of this kind. I was going to get honest work after this."

Robin rolled his eyes. How many times had he heard that over his career as a vigilante? How many people had said this was their last job, that they were going straight after this? Once you let the criminal life take you over, you couldn't back out so easily. Old connections would turn up asking for favors, and that prideful part of you that enjoyed the easy money or thrill of getting away with something would constantly be reminding you of the good old days. Next thing you knew, you'd be seeing your past through rose colored glasses and then you'd dive headfirst back into it.

Once you had made the choice to be a criminal once, it would be that much easier to convince yourself to do it again. And again. And again. Few criminals stopped without receiving a jarring dose of reality. And sometimes prison wasn't enough. Not that the price of five to ten years wasn't a steep one, but many people were willing to pay it if necessary.

That was why the world needed Batman, and those like him. Someone that did not play legal games or allow things to get wrapped in red tape. Someone who did not have a specific, clearly labeled punishment for the crimes he put a stop to. Someone who, by his very nature, represented the thing that humanity feared most of all: The Unknown.

"It was going to be my last job," the pilot moaned miserably, "After this, I was done."

"Don't lie to yourself," Robin snapped suddenly, unable to remain silent any longer, "You'd have convinced yourself sooner or later that 'one more time couldn't hurt'. Maybe this is a warning. Maybe your last. Your wake up call."

"What do you mean?" the pilot asked.

"Think about it: if nothing had gone wrong, you'd have walked away a rich man. Easiest money you ever made, just flying from one point to another. Things that are easy are attractive because it's in the nature of humanity to be lazy, especially about things that really matter. People are willing to put ridiculous amounts of effort into things they want to do, that are fun or interesting to them. But they won't put that same enthusiasm into something dull and repetitive like regular work. When it comes to simple everyday survival, people are surprisingly unwilling to do what is necessary to survive."

The pilot looked like he might argue, but Robin was warming to his subject. He was tired, he was hurting and this pitiful and pathetic example of humanity was doing nothing to improve his humor.

"People will do anything to get what they want. But they often won't lift a finger to get what they need. That they want handed to them on a silver platter. Why? I don't know, but it's true. I think you needed a wake up call, to tell you that you made the wrong choice in life. And I think this is it."

"What kind of wake up call is this?" the pilot asked, "We could die out here, you know."

"Sometimes you don't get much time to change," Robin commented dryly, "Sometimes you only get a split second to make your decision, because that's how much time you have left."

"But, when it comes to life choices, you have to take time to think things through," the pilot said, "Otherwise you could make the wrong choice and ruin your life."

"Look at your life. Look where you are," Robin spat, "Does this _look_ like the right choice to you? Is _this_ what you wanted? Where you want to be? All the time in the world won't help you make the right decision if you have the wrong set of priorities."

"What do you mean?" the pilot asked.

"You made this choice because you wanted easy money, right?" the pilot nodded when Robin paused, so he went on, "You had only yourself to think of, but you weren't even thinking about that. You were thinking about how easy the job was, how much money you could make at it. You weren't thinking about the risk to yourself, because you allowed the reward to cloud your judgment."

Robin paused to let that sink in for a moment before going on.

"But then you got a family. And now you're worried about what will happen to them if you go to jail. Or worse. What will happen to them without you?"

"Yes," the pilot agreed.

"But you weren't thinking about that when you took off last night. Were you?"

"Well I-"

"No. You were thinking about the money. You were thinking about a life of ease, where you didn't have to worry about bills piling up. You weren't thinking that it was possible you wouldn't be coming home. Money is still your idol, your personal God. You can try and convince yourself that's not true all you want, but the truth is that you would not be where you are now if it were not the case. Don't get me wrong, making money is not inherently a bad thing. Making huge piles of money is not wrong. But putting money on a pedestal and valuing it over everything and everyone else is. That's why you're here. _Your_ God brought you here."


	9. Chapter 9

The pilot either didn't like what Robin said, or was having to think very hard about it. Either way, he stopped talking and went back to gazing out the broken window, watching the rain land on the bare twigs of a recently broken tree branch and then fall to the ground, where the drops large and small disappeared almost instantly into the muddy soil.

Robin was dozing. He wasn't quite asleep, but he wasn't precisely alert either. He felt like he'd hit a brick wall. His head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton and his lungs ached in tune with his ribs. His eyelids seemed to burn like he had a fever, but he didn't think he did. Perhaps this was another side effect of the stings from the... what was it Carver had called it? The tarantula hawk.

A solid **_THUMP_ **knocked him out of his inattention. Robin blinked, moved a little, starting to look around. It had been less of a sound and more of a vibration, he thought. He struggled against his brain fog and tried to clear his misty vision. His eyes didn't want to focus.

It struck him at this very odd instant that he was hungry. He ignored that.

He gazed about himself carefully, moving nothing but his head. It was dark, but not pitch black. Every time Robin's eyes began to adjust to the darkness, lightning flashed brilliantly, rendering him effectively blind. A harsh clap of thunder followed the lightning at unexpected intervals.

It took a bit for Robin's others senses to make themselves heard above the clamor being supplied through sight and sound. It was his sense of touch that reported in first. The air brushed against him, and the water in his ears sloshed a bit. He had the sensation of movement.

This didn't mean much for the moment. Weak and injured as he was, he had more than once already had the impression of motion where there was none. But, as it turned out, he was not the only one to notice. A thunder clap got the pilot's attention and he began to cry out.

"We're moving!" he yelled, "We're going to fall!"

Robin didn't understand that. They were wedged firmly against a number of boulders. Those rocks weren't going anywhere, no matter how much it rained. Not unless something dug them out.

An ominous creaking, groaning, shrieking of metal slowly being rent and torn got his attention. It was coming from the right side of the plane, the side nearest to him. But what on Earth-... He realized what was happening all at once.

"We're not falling," he said quietly, struggling to maintain calm, "We're turning over."

"_WHAT_!?" the pilot screamed, "How the hell are we doing that?"

"I don't know, but it doesn't matter," Robin said quickly, "We need to get out of this plane. Now."

The pilot began to make soft whimpering noises. Robin stared at him. He was a big man, and not just because he was overweight. He was tall and heavy-boned, easily twice Robin's size. And yet he sounded like he was about to cry like a little baby.

Robin supposed he couldn't blame the man. Not everyone was cut out for performing death defying stunts. But now was no time to be going to pieces.

"Get up," Robin growled in a dangerous tone, "Get up and help me."

Robin had uncoiled his frame and eased down to the floor, careful not to step on Carver. He could feel the floor shifting. They weren't moving fast, but they were moving. Any second they would reach a point in their turn which would pitch the plane right over the edge.

They didn't want to be inside when that happened. It was one thing to plow into the ground. It was quite another to roll down a hill in a plane already badly battered and torn up. The high-pitched squealing of ripping metal was enough to propel the pilot to his feet.

"How are we gonna get out!?" the pilot yelled.

"Same way as before," Robin replied, jerking his head towards the front of the plane, "Only more carefully."

The pilot began to moan, but obediently helped Robin pick up Carver and haul him towards the front. It was easier said than done. The motion was slight when you were standing still, but balance was difficult to maintain, at least for the pilot. For Robin, a little movement in the floor wasn't such a trial. Carrying a large man and putting strain on his ribs on the other hand...

The pilot slid out first and Robin passed the unresponsive Carver to him. A splat sound told him that the pilot had fallen back and probably dropped Carver on the ground. Robin just hoped the pilot had enough sense to move farther from the plane.

Before Robin could make his own way out, the back end of the plane suddenly pitched sideways and downward. The floor heaved, and a sharp rock came slashing through the side of the plane. Robin leaped away from it, dodging backwards as the rock cut through the plane like butter.

The slanted floor made him slide all the way to the metal container in the back. The front of the container now became the floor, the plane had broken in half, and the back end was now tail down, and swinging uncertainly in the air. Robin staggered, trying to find the rhythm of the swing.

Metal overhead shrieked, the fuselage was torn to pieces and it wouldn't be long before the tail section simply broke free and fell. Now Robin could see what had caused the plane to begin rolling.

A tree had come down in the storm, slid downhill. It had been pushing against the underside of the plane, shoving the plane out of its way and over the rocks. A shift in the wind or the plane or something had altered the tree's direction and the end of the torn trunk had slammed into the plane. The plane had started to turn, and then broken in half instead. The tree was leaning on the broken section, bound by gravity to continue sliding down the muddy slope, all the way to the bottom. And it was going to take the tail with it.

Heavy branches clawed at Robin from above. He couldn't see past the enormous tree, and couldn't see a way to squeeze past it. He was trapped in the tail of the plane. Unless... he turned towards the open top, which was now the side, facing the cold open air.

It was big enough that Robin could get out. But it was also swinging in the air, hanging in space over a thirty foot drop straight down. Bad enough to roll down a steep slope. A fall would break something serious, and very probably kill him. Or was that definitely? How far did you have to fall before it became automatically fatal for you to hit the ground?

Robin decided not to calculate that. He had more important things to do.

He peered out of the plane. Rain slapped him in the face when he looked up and he shook his head fiercely. He needed to get out of this plane. He had a grappling hook, but nothing he could attach it to. Well, nothing that would help save his life anyway.

However, there was a rock jutting out about fifteen feet to the left of the plane and a few feet below it. Not enough to land on, but possibly enough to catch hold of. Assuming it was firmly buried in the ground, not too smooth or too sharp.

If Robin could get there, he could swing himself up and climb to a point clear of the plane.

Robin rocked with the swing of the plane and took several deep breaths, or as deep as he could manage. He focused on his objective, shutting out all outside concerns. There was just him, the rock, and the space in between. All that existed in the world were those three things. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He jumped. As he did so, Robin rotated so that he would be able to catch the rock with his right hand. If the rock was sharp, he would do well to catch it with his gloved hand. He almost missed.

Robin hit the rock awkwardly and gasped as his full weight hit his arm. Pain flared through his right side from hip to fingertips. But he'd done it. Before he'd even caught his breath, Robin kicked off from the slope and swung to a higher perch on a large rock. He next leaped to a low branch sprouting from a tree which had grown almost sideways up the slope. The branch was a good ten feet above where the trunk burst out of the ground, but was only about a foot above the dirt where the branch was.

A deafening scream foretold the fall of the tail section, which followed almost immediately. The terrible crash of it hitting the bottom was echoed by a fierce roar of thunder.

Robin crouched on the branch, shaking to his bones as the thunder vibrated the tree and wind tore at the branch. The sting on his right arm felt like it was on fire and he knew he'd strained several muscles. His ribs screamed at him for abusing them and he couldn't catch his breath. The rain battered at him, the wind clawed at him and the thunder rumbled low enough to shake him to the core.

Near the nose of the plane, just a few feet higher up the slope, Robin spotted the pilot and Carver. The pilot was staring wide eyed at where the tail section used to be. He didn't notice Robin at all. It seemed likely that he believed Robin had just been killed.

"Nice field trip you've taken me on!" Robin shouted, but his voice was hoarse and faint in the sound of the storm.

The pilot heard him though and looked up. He looked at once afraid and relieved, like he wasn't at all certain which emotion he ought to be experiencing at this juncture.

Robin wasn't all that sure himself.

It was good that he was no longer in the plane because it would surely have killed him. But now he was exposed to the elements, the cold and wind and rain. That was very bad.

Robin jumped to the ground and landed heavily, dropping to one knee. Everything hurt. He felt like he'd strained every muscle in his body in that ill-planned leap. It had saved his life, but it would have been nice to have a little bit more time to prepare.

Robin got up and staggered over to where the pilot was sitting with Carver's head in his lap.

"Now what do we do?" the pilot asked through chattering teeth.

"Survive," Robin replied in a cold voice.

The pilot sat there, staring at him with an open mouth. Robin didn't say anything else, but instead headed for the meager shelter provided by a series of boulders a little lower down. They weren't much, but they were the best in view, and Robin knew he couldn't get much farther.

He left the pilot to drag Carver. He couldn't have raised a finger to help if he'd wanted to. He could barely get himself down without falling. He did trip and fall when he got between the rocks which were encircled by trees and brush. He didn't bother getting up. It wasn't worth it.

The pilot arrived shortly thereafter. He settled beside Robin and looked nervously up at the trees.

"What if these trees fall?" He asked worriedly.

"These trees?" Robin grunted without looking up, "These trees aren't dead. The one that fell on us had no leaves. It was dead. It would have fallen down sooner or later even without the storm."

"Oh," the pilot said, sounding miserable, adding after a moment, "We're going to freeze to death, aren't we?"

"It's not freezing," Robin replied, "It's just very cold."

"Well, yes, but the night's only half over," the pilot fretted, "It could get much colder. And it's cold enough as it is. We're going to be sick."

"I've already been sick," Robin mumbled.

"But-"

"Be quiet," Robin snapped lethargically, "My head hurts and I can't think."

"Oh," the pilot fell silent after that.

The rain continued to fall from the sky in torrents.


	10. Chapter 10

**Part 2 – A Matter of Choice**

"My goodness, he's quick."

The storm had abated some time in the night. The day had arrived with disorienting suddenness, bright, sunny and clear. It was warming up fast. Carver had regained consciousness shortly before dawn, but had been unable to move much on his own. His pilot and Robin dragged him out of the shade as soon as the sun appeared. Carver knew it would be hot and humid soon enough, but right now it was still cold. His body ached from the cold.

They had been just sitting, warming up enough to get the numbness out of their limbs, when Robin suddenly cocked his head like he heard something. The next instant, he had bounded across to a tree and swung up into it. His movements were smooth and graceful, almost like he was performing ballet, Carver thought.

Robin had almost vanished from view now, Carver could just make out a patch of red between the leaves of the tree Robin had climbed up. Actually, it had looked less like climbing and more like well choreographed leaping, turning, swinging, leaping again. Like a circus performer on a high wire or a trapeze. Carver could not know how accurate his perception was.

"I'd never make it up that tree, even on my best day," the pilot said, sounding impressed.

Carver grunted but didn't actually answer. He didn't like Robin being so far away. Out of reach. Out of his control. Not that it mattered. Carver couldn't overpower a field mouse right now. He had to face it, no matter how much he didn't like it.

Robin had won.

It was unfair. The stupid pilot and the stupid weather and the stupid plan were at fault. If not for all of that, Carver would have taken Robin down easily. But it seemed that even the wind and rain were on the bird's side. Carver couldn't compete with nature itself. He simply couldn't.

He was defeated, and was now willing to admit it.

Batman would probably show up any minute and take them away. Carver and the pilot would go to prison, the bird would be going home. Going free.

It made Carver angry, just thinking about it. It wasn't _fair_! Everything had been so simple before. It should have been easy. The hard part should have been catching Robin in the first place. Everything after that should have just been tying up loose ends. Fly him to a new location, turn him over to Carver's employer. That was it. Done. Finished. Everybody's happy.

But no. That wasn't what had happened at all.

Dammit. Damn it all.

* * *

><p>Robin wasn't as relaxed as he looked from below. In fact, he was very tense. He barely noticed the renewed heat in his stings, and only hissed absently when his raw left hand brushed against the rough bark of the tree he was perching in. He was busy.<p>

Crouched low, peering upward uneasily, Robin knew he was in trouble. He'd heard something. Something airborne. But it wasn't the Batwing. It was a helicopter, glinting bright white in the intense morning sun. It was flying low, sweeping back and forth overhead in a search pattern.

It was looking for the plane. Carver's employer had come to find them.

Robin's heart beat fast in his chest, so fast it actually hurt. He knew he was experiencing panic. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what was going to happen to him. He had no idea what to expect. All he knew was that his only chance of escape had been Batman coming and finding him.

It would be idiotic to try and run away now, to try and survive in the wild and wait for Batman to show up. For all he knew, the tracer may have been destroyed in the crash. He could die out here waiting for help that would simply never come.

Robin's mind railed against the notion of allowing himself to be captured. His heart rebelled against the very thought of being stuffed in another metal container and shipped for hours in the dark to parts unknown. Like all of humanity, Robin's deepest fear was the unknown. He knew that imagination was a powerful thing, and could easily destroy him if he let it get away. So he tried not to think about anything more than just the next few minutes.

The chopper would land wherever it could as soon as the people in it spotted the plane. That was inevitable. Though the brush seemed thick from the ground, from the air the plane was virtually out in the open, shiny white from the heavy rainfall. The chopper would land, people would get out and come here. They would probably have medical equipment. At least Carver would get help.

They would recapture Robin. If he struggled, it would likely go hard for him. Best to just give in immediately and hope they would think he'd given up. That might buy him an advantage later on.

He knew that intellectually. It was the only thing to do. But emotionally... he was like a wild animal, violently despising all forms of captivity. And some part of him was reluctant to go up in the air again so soon after crashing and getting stuck out here.

Robin felt himself trembling against the branch and sinking lower in the leaves as though they could hide him. He couldn't believe the extreme terror coursing through him all of a sudden. It completely blanked out the white-hot pain in his arm and hand, not to mention the painful throbbing in his chest.

He was exhausted, running on little sleep, no food and no water. He'd been running for almost two days, with only a short nap and a few periods of marked unconsciousness making it less. He didn't have what it took to prevent this mindless fear from taking over.

But he couldn't let it run rampant for long. So he crouched on the branch, shaking like the leaves around him, fighting for control of himself.

Robin realized the fear hadn't really settled in until he got a look at one of the people in the helicopter. He didn't recognize the person per say, but he knew the type. He knew it all too well. Shudders of revulsion ran through him and he thought for a moment he'd fall out of the tree.

_Geez, get a grip, you idiot!_

The anger directed at himself soothed his frayed nerves. Once the fierce mental outburst occurred, it wasn't so hard to get his fear under control. All he had to do was breathe. He was in no real danger. Not yet anyway. It didn't matter who was in that helicopter.

What mattered was what he knew about them. For some reason or another, they had wanted him alive. Carver had been extremely clear on that point. They were using Robin as a lure for Batman. They wanted Batman, not Robin. Maybe once they had Batman within their grasp, maybe then he'd be in mortal danger. But until then, they wouldn't dare kill him.

A shiver ran down his spine, telling him that he was lying to himself.

With the kind of personality he'd just caught a glimpse of, there were no guarantees. There was no predicting. There was no logic or reason. Beyond this point, anything was possible.

"I'd rather stay here and deal with the giant wasps," Robin muttered to himself.

* * *

><p>Robin glared balefully at his new captor.<p>

William Bernard was a tiny man of about four foot two. He was bony and moved in a quick, birdlike manner. He had a round, soft baby face almost devoid of wrinkles, though his shock of white hair betrayed his age, as did his stiff manner. He was wearing an ice cream suit, with matching shoes and bowler hat, and a dark indigo tie with pinpricks of white spattered across it like a field of stars. He was wearing a monocle and gold pocket watch chain and carrying a silver cigarette holder in his right hand, a matching cane hanging over his arm, clearly a fashion piece more than anything. The most bizarre thing about him was, perhaps, his long, thin, hooked nose with its twisting white scar.

Mr. Bernard pulled an indigo handkerchief from the breast pocket of his coat and dabbed at his face.

It was late morning now, and the temperature had skyrocketed. The humidity was terrible. Robin watched the sweat drip down the squishy face, and felt his own sweat sticky on his back. He'd already been ambushed by a number of mosquitoes, but their itchy bites had absolutely nothing on the stings.

He had no words to describe the initial pain he'd felt, but this aftermath he did have words for. If you compared it with a bee sting, which he'd had before, it was like the difference between stabbed with a knife and seeing a picture of someone who had been stabbed.

With the picture, you felt a brief shock as your imagination gave you a faint impression of what it must feel like. Your nerves seemed to cringe in sympathy, or maybe it was your brain filing away the image to tell you not to ever let that happen to you. But that was only a faint, vague impression of what a real stab wound felt like.

That's what the bee sting was. Just an impression, something unreal. The sting of the hawk, that was the real thing. And it hurt like blazes, burning with some kind of internal fire even now.

"We had a devil of a time finding this place," Mr. Bernard told Carver, who seemed disinterested.

Carver had a glassy look in his eyes, like he wasn't really absorbing new input. He was lost out in his own realm of delusion again. Mr. Bernard did not regard the pilot with anything more than contempt.

"So, you're the fool that caused all this trouble," Mr. Bernard said in a clipped way.

"I checked the weather," the pilot said, "and it was supposed to be clear. I don't know what happened-"

"Excuses, excuses," Mr. Bernard waved his right hand dismissively.

He had a large gold ring on his third finger which appeared to have some kind of jewel in it, possibly an emerald. This, among other things, informed Robin that this was a very rich man. The man was clearly accustomed to having things his own way.

"What are you complaining about," Carver growled distantly, "You've got what you want. So what's the use complaining and pointing fingers?"

"My dear Mr. Carver," Mr. Bernard said, his voice full of poorly concealed disgust and doused in a layer of false sweetness, "The problem is this: if you had done as I asked, the bat should have followed you. But now he may well have lost the scent. We have a worm," he gestured towards Robin without looking at him, "but we have no fish."

There were a couple of things Robin didn't like about this situation, aside from the obvious. The first was the total lack of concern for Carver. Mr. Bernard had arrived with three burly men dressed in black suits, military-style boots and tuques. They were nondescript, square-headed, snarly faced men with shoulders the size of a large city humped up so that they hardly seemed to have necks.

Not one of them had given Carver a second glance. They had looked around and immediately identified their target. That brought them to the second thing Robin didn't like.

Though he made no attempt to get away or otherwise struggle, they had piled on him like he was a ferocious crocodile about to snap their heads off. They had sat on him, nearly suffocating him until one of them managed to get him restrained. Metal cuffs bound his hands, and another set had him by the ankles. A belt around his waist had a chain running through it from one set to another. He'd barely be able to stand up, forget walking around.

Finally, they got off him and he lay gasping and wheezing painfully for air. They were standing around him in a cluster, glaring at him like hungry dogs at a piece of meat. Robin didn't like them.

"Don't break him for goodness sake," Mr. Bernard had said at that point, though the concern in his voice was the same one might show for an expensive vase rather than a living thing.

"Now then, what are we going to do about you?" Mr. Bernard wondered.

"Come again?" Carver asked.

"Surely you don't expect to be rewarded for this disaster?" Mr. Bernard said.

"I'm not the one who crashed the plane-" Carver protested, but Mr. Bernard held up his hand.

"Perhaps not," Mr. Bernard agreed, "But you are the one who hired the one who did. And that makes you responsible. You chose to hire a buffoon, and look where it's gotten you."

"But I-" Mr. Bernard held up his hand again, stopping Carver's protests.

"It was a simple choice. And you made the wrong one."

Carver looked truly alarmed now. He lay on the ground, utterly helpless, and Mr. Bernard, his employer, seemed to be threatening to leave him here to die. He looked from Mr. Bernard to the henchmen, to Robin and then back again, panic in his eyes.

"Now," Mr. Bernard said passively, "Let it never be said that I am a cruel man."

As Robin watched, Mr. Bernard produced a silver pistol from his jacket. It was a large piece, beautifully etched with intricate designed along the grip and muzzle. Before Robin could protest or Carver could cry out, Mr. Bernard fired. A single shot, right through the head.

Mr. Bernard put the weapon away without ceremony.

"Now, as for you," he looked at the pilot, "when Batman comes, tell him where we've gone. If I don't get my bat, I will come back for you," he turned to his men, "Come, let us go."

One of the thugs threw Robin over his shoulder. Robin bit back a cry as his full weight came to rest on his cracked ribs. He looked back at the pilot, who sat crying and whimpering, staring at the dead man on the ground beside him, who stared right back with cold, dead eyes...


	11. Chapter 11

"Why are you still alive?" Batman growled, glaring at the pilot.

As soon as the secondary storm cleared, Batman had gone looking for the downed plane. It was fortunate that the transmitter was still functioning, albeit rather poorly. It had been damaged in the crash, and the surrounding hills had dampened its signal. But Batman _had_ found it.

He had come not long after the helicopter left. He didn't know anything about the helicopter, but he at once took in that something had happened, and that Robin was no longer here. Tracks told of four people aside from Robin, the dead man and the pilot, three large men and what appeared to be a child or teenager from the weight and shoe size. But there was something decidedly odd about the gait of that individual. The tracks left behind were suggestive of a crippled body.

The dead man lying on the ground, freshly shot from the look of the hole in his head. The blood was still sticky and red. The body and face were even still shiny from sweat. The kill was fresh, and the killer couldn't have gone very far yet.

The real puzzle was the man who was still alive. It quickly became apparent from his nearly incoherent babbling that he was the pilot of the downed plane, only half of which Batman could see hanging from a large boulder several yards away.

"I guess maybe your kid was right," the pilot said slowly, keeping his eyes on the ground, "I guess, maybe, if I was dead, I wouldn't be able to wake up."

Batman paused. It took him a second to realize the pilot was referring to Robin. The rest of it made no sense. He wondered how lucid the pilot was.

"Where did they go?" Batman demanded, pointing to the body, "The men who did this?"

"Oh, I suppose they went home," the pilot said absently, his mind seeming to be working over something entirely unrelated, "Yes, I guess they must have."

"Where is home?" Batman asked, growing impatient.

He knew he'd come close, so very close, to getting Robin back. But now this pitiful man fidgeting in a pile of dead leaves next to a corpse was his only lead. He could feel the gap between himself and his objective widening with each passing second. He couldn't help but be impatient.

He knew Robin was still alive, but that was small comfort, all things considered. He didn't know why the dead man was dead, or the live man still alive. What was the difference between the two? Or had they been chosen at random? In any case, it suggested a madman. Or a madwoman.

Either way, Batman didn't like to think of his ward as being in the hands of such an individual for long.

"I don't know," the pilot shrugged vaguely, still avoiding looking at Batman.

It was obvious that any threats or intimidation tactics would simply frighten the man so much that he wouldn't talk anymore. Batman didn't get the sense the pilot was withholding anything or intentionally being difficult, but he was clearly traumatized. Batman didn't feel any sympathy, but he knew that he couldn't push this man and still hope to get any useful information.

"I was supposed to land, stay in the plane while it was unloaded, then take off. Carver was... well... Carver was," his eyes strayed to the body, presumably Carver, "He was... I think... I think he was going to... um..." he raised both hands and fisted them in front of himself, then moved them side to side.

"He was going to drive to a new location," Batman guessed.

"Yes. Yes he was," the pilot gasped in relief, as though he'd been about to drown, "I don't know where. Really I don't. I'd tell you... if... if I did know. I would tell you. I would... really."

"I believe you," Batman grunted, mostly because he wanted the man to stop talking.

"You do? Really?" the pilot looked at Batman for the first time, then sharply returned his gaze to the ground. He picked up a leaf and began to break it into tiny pieces.

Batman looked again at the dead body with its fatal head wound. This second look revealed that the body had been injured beforehand, possibly in the crash itself. But the injuries didn't look right. They didn't look like the bruises and scrapes you would expect to see as a result of a plane crash. It was most like... like he'd had his head smashed against a rock. The marks on his head were consistent with a rough surface, not like a piece of smooth or even torn metal.

Batman knelt down and inspected the wound more closely. Bits of dirt and tiny fragments of rock were pressed into the injury, reinforcing the speculation. Had that happened after the four men arrived? Had they beaten him up and then shot him? But to what end? Was he withholding information from them? It didn't make any sense. Something else must have happened.

"I know who it was," the pilot said.

Batman looked over at him, not sure what he meant at first.

"The men who came in the helicopter," the pilot said, "I know who they work for."

"I'm listening."

* * *

><p>The big cat paced, silent except for the infernal clinking of the links in its chain. Robin judged it to be about two hundred pounds, about two and a half feet tall at the shoulder and roughly six feet long. It was deep black, with only the faintest hint of the darker rosettes and normally golden coloration beneath. It was a black jaguar, at least that was Robin's assumption.<p>

It appeared to be very uncomfortable, but resigned to remain so. It must have been in captivity its whole life to be so passive about it. Its mouth was open in a steady, monotonous pant, its tail tip twitched and its ears were permanently tipped back in an irritable fashion.

It was incongruously placed in the dining hall of a large building on a hill, which had been outwardly designed to resemble a castle. It was white limestone, which looked wrong for a castle. The inside distantly reminded Robin of Wayne Manor, except it was like a bad copy or a sick perversion of the place he considered to be his home.

Robin identified with the jaguar's displeasure. It was chained at one end of the hall, in a windowless covey. Its chain ran from one side of that to the other, about fifty feet. The hall was narrower at one end than the other, Robin only had about twenty feet to pace in.

But he wasn't pacing. His ankles had been freed, but his wrists were still bound to his waist. He'd been attached to a length of chain and set down on a floor mat. He had remained there, watching a flurry of activity as several maids scurried about the room, straightening, fixing, arranging for about fifteen minutes.

There were three doors out of this place. One led to what smelled like the kitchen. Robin had been brought in through the other on that side of the room, which was just out of reach of the jaguar if it had tried to take a swing at them, which it hadn't. That led to the entry way. Robin didn't know about the third door, which was on the other side of the room from the first two.

The entry had been open, with a marble floor. A wide staircase had been ahead, to the left of that was a hall that led to places unknown. To the right of the door was a wide archway that lead to what looked like a sitting area. To the left was this absurd dining hall, hidden behind heavy oak doors.

It was a weird layout for a house, but Robin figured it was custom built, to the specifications of whoever owned it. He'd seen some weird floor plans come from people who designed their own homes. He supposed even Wayne Manor was a little oddly laid out if you thought about it, but he was used to it.

The great cat reached the wall, snarled at it in a repetitive, almost mindless way, wheeled and began to stalk in the other direction. Robin knew he was seeing classic boredom behavior, common to animals kept in captivity. The animal had nothing to do, and was slowly losing its mind. It was quite literally going insane from sheer boredom and permanent tension brought on by too little mental and physical exercise. That made it more dangerous than the hungriest one of its kind.

In all likelihood, it was every bit as mad as its master. Completely unpredictable and full of seething, impotent rage which had been fed for years.

The cat reached the other wall and snarled again, its mouth wide, razor fangs showing to the roots. Those wicked sabers were long, slightly curved. Robin knew the jaguar had a powerful bite but, with those teeth, it hardly needed it. It wouldn't take much forced to drive those fangs through flesh, straight to the bone. Robin hoped he didn't need any of this information. He didn't want to go up against that thing. Not now. Not ever. Not for any reason.

"Ah, it is so good to be home," William Bernard announced as he came in through the oak doors.

Robin caught a glimpse of one of the heavy-set thugs who'd brought him here as the door shut. After making sure Robin was securely chained, the thugs had split up. Robin could neither see nor hear them, but he was reasonably certain they were standing just outside the doors. Robin was alone in the room with Bernard and the big cat, but he was not truly alone with them.

The cat yowled and struck out with its right forepaw, claws extended. It strained against the chain at its neck, snarling, the skin of its face rippling in response to its fury. It lashed out again, but Bernard ignored it.

Strange, it hadn't done that when Robin and the men came in. Robin, a stranger to it, might have been considered a threat. But presumably it knew Bernard. And, evidently, it despised him.

The cat snapped futilely at the air, its tail whipping from one side to the other so fiercely its entire body shifted. The round ears lay flat against the dark head, the white fangs gleamed in the light of the chandelier overhead. But it soon gave up, apparently knowing there was no point to this display.

Bernard sat in the throne-like chair at the end of the table, his back to the great cat, ignoring the death at his table. He looked down its length at Robin, who simply glared back, saying nothing and making no move.

"Please," Bernard said in what Robin assumed was meant to be a soothing tone, but in reality served only to send chills down his spine, "don't look at me like that. I am only doing what I must."

"Really?" Robin bit the word off at the end.

The cat's fury was contagious. Robin hated captivity as much as the cat did. He didn't feel any better about murderers, which this man most certainly was. He didn't want the man dead, not like the cat obviously did, but he could see where the animal was coming from.

"Oh yes," Bernard answered, sipping the wine in a glass which had been set there before his arrival, "Every creature does what it must to ensure a better chance of survival."

"And how, exactly, does bringing me here insure your survival?" Robin asked, his tone losing none of its hostility even as Bernard's voice stayed even, as though he were discussing nothing more than the weather outside.

Bernard sighed and sat back, as though preparing to monologue. But just then two maids entered, each one carrying a covered tray. They walked crisply to where Bernard sat, ignoring both Robin and the cat, who had begun to snarl angrily again. One stood on his left, the other on his right. The first leaned down and set her tray on the table and removed the lid in silence.

The smell of food hit Robin suddenly. His body reminded him that he was hungry, but he tensed and leaned slightly away, even though the food was across the room. He wanted no part of it, which was just as well because it hadn't been offered to him.

Not that the food itself was repulsive. It was a beautiful dinner of steak, mashed potatoes, fresh green peas, complete with a roll and gravy for the potatoes. It both looked and smelled good. But it might as well have been maggot-filled bread for all Robin cared about it.

The jaguar roared suddenly, a loud ear-splitting sound in the enclosed space. It might not be equal to a lion or tiger's roar, but it didn't have to be. It was a sound of fury. The cat was attempting to proclaim ownership of this territory, to drive away the intruders. But its eyes never left Bernard. It paid no attention to the maids at all.

However, both maids jumped involuntarily and exchanged frightened glances. They had successfully ignored the animal when it was still and quiet, but evidently they didn't feel good about facing away from it while it roared in fierce rage.

The first maid turned and left the room, her duties evidently fulfilled for the moment. The second maid turned and stood facing the jaguar, her body trembling so hard Robin could see it from across the room.

Slowly, nervously, she knelt down and set her tray on the floor. She removed the lid.

The jaguar snarled and struck out at her, swinging its head from side to side. Its muscles rippled beneath its satin-smooth coat. It struck fast, and it struck hard.

The stone flooring of the room made much more sense than it had when Robin had first entered. There was a thick rug under the table, but the corner with the jaguar was bare. The walls were wood paneled, except at the ends of the room, which were stone.

The jaguar's area was heavily claw marked. Its nails scraped against the rock as it pulled back from its swing. As it did so, the maid quickly slid the tray over into its range, leaped to her feet and all but ran from the room. Robin saw that her eyes were wide with fear, sweat beaded on her smooth brow. He was startled to realize she was little more than a girl, not yet a woman.

The jaguar lunged and pounced on the tray. It bit the silver tray, its fangs driving into it, driving a hole in the material. The ground meat it had been given spilled on the floor, blood splashed the stone. The cat ignored the meal and tore into the tray, snarling, biting, clawing.

William Bernard sat primly in his seat, a tiny man in an enormous chair, ignoring the chaos behind him as he daintily cut into his steak and took a delicate bite with complete disregard for bringer of death.

"Ah," he sighed, "that is very good."


	12. Chapter 12

"William Lawrence Bernard," Batman growled.

He had returned to the batcave after dropping the pilot off with the authorities. All the way there, the pilot had miserably repeated over and over that he had known, had known all along what he was carrying. He had known about the kidnapping, known that he was carrying a person in the back. He'd made that very clear. He'd stated it again and again, using different words each time as though afraid nobody would understand what he meant. He was still at it when Batman left him at the police station.

"That name rings a bell, sir," Alfred commented mildly, watching Batman pace like a caged tiger.

"It should," Batman told him, continuing to pace around furiously, his hands clasped behind his back, "William Bernard was born into wealth. By the time he was twenty-three, he had bought out several major corporations. His father died in a plane crash when he was thirty-six, his mother committed suicide shortly thereafter. He was an only child. Bernard was never one of those rebellious kids, never thought of himself as being entitled. He spent his money wisely, and built upon the wealth his parents had amassed during their lifetimes. He even got a degree in psychology."

Batman paused when the computer clicked. He peered at it for a moment, then typed in a command. The device whirred cooperatively.

"He was something of a philanthropist from his forties to his early sixties. He gave money to a number of charities, and donated a lot to many research projects. He gave grants, bought equipment. And he wasn't confined to a single project. He was interest in everything. Environment, medicine, computer technologies. He even built a hospital in his home city."

"Ah yes, I remember," Alfred said, "He was something of a celebrity as I recall."

"He hosted many charity events," Batman said, "Often in one of his four residences."

"Four?" Alfred raised his eyebrows.

"One in California, one in New York, one in Hawaii and one in Texas. He was born in Chicago, but never returned there after his parents died. He did build a hospital there, and donated large sums of money to a number of organizations dedicated to making it a better place. Everything from cleaning up the neighborhoods to repaving roads in rundown areas."

"But what does he have to do with Melvin Carver?" Alfred wanted to know.

"Bernard dropped out of the public eye abruptly after turning sixty-two. Nobody has seen or heard from him in ten years. At least, not that we know about," Batman said, "Except, it seems, for Melvin Carver. It seems Carver liked to think of himself as an outdoors man, something of an adventurer. He tried being a safari guide in Africa, which resulted in the deaths of more than one client before he was stopped. He was a risk-taker, and an incompetent. He didn't understand anything about the environments he messed around in. Frankly it's surprising that didn't get _him_ killed. Five years ago, he was paid over half a million dollars by one of Bernard's companies."

"Whatever for?" Alfred asked.

"I don't know. But, whatever it was, it sent Carver to South America for six months. Carver's been on the payroll since then," Batman said, "Until his boss up and shot him today."

It had taken hours to fly out to the crash site, hours to get back. Evening was fast approaching. And that probably accounted for some amount of Batman's agitation. He was running on tension, having gotten no sleep the night before and having eaten nothing all day.

He continued to pace around.

"Given the intended landing site," Batman said, "it would seem likely that Bernard took Robin to his Texas home. Except for one thing..." he paused, then resumed pacing, "He sold it ten years ago."

"Perhaps he has another residence?" Alfred suggested.

"Perhaps. But where?" Batman stopped pacing as the computer chirped.

He whirled towards it like a bird of prey on a field mouse. He stood motionless for a time, scanning the information on the screen.

"Nothing," Batman hissed, turning away from the computer abruptly, "He must have a place under another name. That means we're no closer to finding Robin than we were when the storm hit."

"Frankly, sir, I must confess to having a deeper concern than _where_ Master Dick was taken," Alfred said, waiting until Batman turned to look at him, "What do you suppose William Bernard wants with the ward of Batman?"

Batman shook his head and said, "I can't imagine. That worries me more than anything else."

* * *

><p>The maid who entered a few minutes after the jaguar had finished its fit was a dark-skinned, raven haired beauty. She had black eyes and moved like a dancer. She was barely Robin's age, perhaps younger. She did not look at Bernard as she entered the room, but instead came through the door holding a tray and then stood there, staring fixedly at the silver lid.<p>

"Ah, Melina," Bernard smiled brightly, "Don't be shy, girl. Put the tray down."

Melina kept her eyes on the silver as she stepped into the room. She walked towards where Robin was sitting. He swiftly got to his feet, instinctively cautious. Melina halted and looked at him, and he saw her eyes flashing with fear. She was terrified of him.

He eased back a step and carefully avoided staring at her. He said nothing, but his passive movements seemed to calm the girl. She knelt swiftly, placing the tray on the floor. She kept her eyes on Robin, who eased still farther away from her. He didn't particularly want to frighten her.

She regarded him in much the same way as the maid who had fed the jaguar had looked at it. Like he was a wild thing which might strike out at her any moment. He watched her from the corner of his eye. As she got up, he noticed a scar right at the collar of her maid's outfit.

He knew it for what it was almost at once. It was from a knife blade. It was an old wound, long healed. The girl noticed his attentions and hastily pulled at her collar, her eyes conveying the terror of one who has been violated by men and has decided that all of them are to be feared.

"Beautiful creature, isn't she?" Bernard commented after Melina had retreated.

Robin had noticed his lascivious eye on her the entire time she had been in the room. A shudder ran through him. Robin regarded the tray left for him dispassionately. It looked like the same thing Bernard was eating. Robin felt his stomach turn, rebelling against the very idea of eating in the man's presence.

He sat down and, like the jaguar, ignored the food provided.

The great cat had finally lost control of its mangled dish. It had swiped at it and sent the dish spinning across the floor, out of reach. The creature had yowled and clawed for the dish for awhile before settling down. It completely ignored the food on the floor, like it wasn't there.

Robin didn't blame it.

"Now, where were we?" Bernard asking, pushing his empty plate away.

Robin said nothing.

"Ah yes, we were speaking of matters of survival. It's a subject very close to my heart," Bernard said, "As it is for every living thing. Everything wants to survive. To that end, animals mark territory, fight one another for feeding grounds and breeding rights, ensuring their immortality by propagating their species. Humanity is little different."

Robin still said nothing.

"We seek to survive, to ensure that our race lives on. But, even more, we are determined that our genes shall survive. You may have noticed I wear no wedding band. I have no wife. No children."

Robin didn't say anything about this either. He could think of many reasons the man might not have a wife or kiddies. The biggest physical one was lying on the floor right behind him, washing its paws with a huge, rough pink tongue. The panther blinked emerald eyes and yawned.

"And so I seek immortality through business. I build, I fund, I create. And I am most territorial. I defend what is mine. In a legal sense, I am every bit as vicious as Supay."

Robin blinked. What did an Inca myth have to do with anything? Then he realized: it was the name of the black jaguar.

"Or at least, I was," Bernard sighed, "But times are changing, and I am an old man now. Infirm and unable to defend my territory as much as I need to. My territory is shrinking, and I fear I shall die, not only in the real sense, but also in the figurative. My businesses are drying up."

_How unfortunate,_ Robin thought sarcastically.

"But even a very old wolf will still chase an elk. He fights to survive for as long as he possibly can. It is not rational. It is not choice. It is merely instinct. A desire to survive which is beyond all logic, all reason. It simply is. That is how nature works."

Bernard shifted in his seat, and clasped his hands in front of him. He was warming to his subject now.

"Do you know how tigers become man eaters? I will tell you. Usually, predators are disgusted by us. Most so-called shark attacks are merely the animal taking a curious bite at something they don't understand. They find us repulsive and do not eat their victims. Perhaps they kill them outright, seeing them as a threat. But, more often, it is merely that the curiosity nip is enough to destroy our fragile bodies. This is true of all predators. They may kill us because they feel threatened. They fear we might injure them, their offspring, or deplete their prey. But they do not eat us. We are not edible."

Supay snarled and glared at Bernard, flicking his tail irritably. Then he resumed washing.

"But a wounded or old tiger will lie by the river, knowing that here is the best place to catch prey. He will wait until there is virtually no chance of failure. He does not have the strength to afford failure. He is usually starving. When a human comes to the river to drink, the tiger sizes up the opportunity. We are small prey. We are weak, we are clumsy. But, most importantly, humans are _slow_. A tiger can easily run a human into the ground. Even a very ill tiger can do this. And he has the strength in his jaws to break our bones, the sharpness of claws to cut through tendon and muscle like soft butter. Our weak eyesight and poor hearing give him the advantage. He attacks man because he has no choice. Because it is his only alternative. Once he learns to eat men, he may do so for years, because we are such easy prey."

"What does that have to do with you?" Robin asked, though he really didn't care.

This man was out of his mind. That was all Robin needed to know.

"I am not a bad person," Bernard said, then smiled patiently when he saw Robin make a face.

It was a gut reaction. He'd seen Bernard kill a man in cold blood. A man he had hired to have Robin kidnapped and brought to this bizarre place. Robin would definitely consider him a bad person.

"I do not kill for pleasure, and I do not enjoy your shackles. Frankly, I'm appalled by the risks taken by my employees in bringing you here."

Robin didn't respond to this.

"I am doing only what I must to survive," Bernard said, "Like the tiger, I have no choice. I must survive. My instincts dictate that. I do not choose. I simply respond to changes in myself and my environment. In spite of what scientists will tell you, humans are no more thinking than toads. We like to believe we are different, but the reality is that we only respond to stimuli. Thus none are bad, and none are good. However, some are completely incompetent. Do not feel badly about Melvin. He was a fool. Sooner or later, his own stupidity would have killed him."

Robin elected not to respond to this either.

"Those of us who are worth anything as human beings do have an advantage over the animals. We are more intelligent. We are clever, excellent problem solvers. We can survive long after we are unable to physically compete with our environment."

"But what does any of this have to do with me?" Robin asked.

"Very little. You, dear boy, are actually of very little consequence. It is your sire who interests me."

Robin hadn't heard that one before. He shook his head, but didn't say anything.

"In nature, there are many animals which exist in symbiosis. They need one another to survive. My dear city is overrun with criminals. They are bleeding it dry. Soon, I will have nothing left. Unless someone can defend my interests. Someone not bound by courtrooms and jurisdictional nonsense."

"Batman," Robin said.

"Yes. He won't like it. Not at first. No animal appreciates changes of location or environmental conditions. But he will get used to it. He will come here for you. He will adjust to his new home. And he will begin to hunt. Because it is what he does. What he must do."

"You're insane. You do know that, right?"

"As for what he gets out of it," Bernard said, ignoring Robin's comment, "I have no heirs. I have much money, and nowhere to put it. I am quite certain that he will be agreeable once he adjusts to the idea."

"So he protects you from criminals and you pay him?" Robin said, "Why not just hire your own private police force? Why go to all this trouble?"

"Because," Bernard said, leaning forward ominously "I am not a fool. I do not settle for second best. I take what I want. And what I want, dear Robin, is Batman. And..." his voice was now a low growl, "I shall have him."

The kitchen door opened and Bernard suddenly sat back, looking pleased.

"Ah, dessert has arrived," he chirped happily.

Robin remained silent.

Supay growled.


	13. Chapter 13

After he had finished his dessert, Bernard got up and left. Robin heard him go up the stairs. Water was running somewhere overhead, so Robin guessed he was probably taking a bath. Nothing happened for about four minutes after William Bernard left the room.

Then Supay suddenly arose. He did it with typical cat grace, moving swiftly but seeming in no hurry. He stepped over to the food on the floor and began to eat it, taking surprisingly small bites in his front teeth and tossing them back to be crushed by his back teeth. He behaved as though the food had just now appeared, as though it had not been there the last hour.

Robin felt his own hunger rise up. Like the cat across the room, he had not felt like eating while Bernard was in the room. Now that the man was gone, he felt suddenly ravenous.

But something in the cat's manner made him cautious. He approached the meal only slowly, and picked up one pea. He looked at it, sniffed it. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. After awhile, he decided to eat it. It wouldn't do him any good to starve. Finding that nothing bad happened to him, Robin continued to eat, remaining cautious, wary of some hidden danger he couldn't understand.

He was about halfway through the food when one of the maids, Melina, came in. He froze where he was, just like the jaguar across the room. Both captives looked at this new intruder. And then dismissed her almost at the same instant. Robin was hungry and tired, and had little interest in the girl. Besides, she was clearly afraid of him, and so would do him no favors.

"Why didn't you eat earlier?" Melina asked, startling both Robin and Supay, "When the food was fresh and still hot?"

She had been stacking the dishes Bernard had left, but now stopped and gazed at Robin out of wide, dark eyes. Her voice trembled when she spoke, but she still waited for an answer.

Behind her, Supay growled. She jumped, then resumed stacking the dishes. She stared at them intently, careful not to make any of them clink together.

"I'm particular about who I eat with," Robin said, measuring the words carefully, "I never eat with people I don't like."

That wasn't entirely true, but close enough.

"You do not like Mr. Bernard?" She asked quietly, not looking up.

"No," Robin replied, "Do you?"

Her gaze snapped up. Her eyes bored into him and flashed darkly. She looked as though she expected him to suddenly lunge across the room and strangle her. The dishes rattled in her hand as she started to tremble. It was as though he had asked her the most difficult question in the world.

She averted her eyes and scurried out of the room without answering.

Supay resumed eating, but Robin didn't feel hungry anymore.

He didn't like it here. There was something wrong with this place, with these people.

He knew why he was here now. Bernard wanted to lure Batman here. To do that, he had to keep Robin alive. Even so, Robin did not feel safe. There was a silent threat in the air. Nothing and no one here was safe. This was a very dangerous place, and it had remarkably little to do with Supay the jaguar.

* * *

><p>Just before the night got dark, the three men who looked like they were made of bricks came in. One of them pressed a button on the wall which had been hidden beneath a tapestry. The jaguar's chain began to get shorter. It snarled in protest, but followed the tug of its chain, all the way to the wall, then down to the floor where the chain connected. The jaguar lay flat as a bag was thrown over its head. It snarled, but didn't fight as the other two men quickly came forward and tied its paws together. Then the bag was tied down and the chain was released.<p>

Robin watched the three men haul the big cat through the oak doors and then out the front door.

A few minutes later, they came for him.

He had a better idea of why they'd treated him so roughly earlier. They were used to dealing with an unpredictable animal that was lightning quick and deadly accurate when it struck. No wonder they'd all piled on and squashed him flat.

The men didn't speak to him, and he didn't really care. One of them unlocked the end of his chain which was attached to the floor. The other two maintained their distance. Robin didn't wait for the man holding the chain to tug on it. He just up and followed the man.

They led him upstairs, down a hall, through a bedroom, then into an adjacent study. This room was done in wood, including the floor, which was covered with an expensive rug. A desk was in the middle of the room, but it had nothing but papers on it, no phone and certainly no computer. Bookshelves lined one wall. There was an armchair in a corner near the outside window, positioned beneath an overhead light. It was here that another D-ring was bolted to the wall. The man lead Robin over to it and locked the end of the chain to the ring. Robin now had just enough length to either sit in the chair or look out the window. He could lie on the floor if he wanted, but there didn't seem to be a point to that.

"Take my advice, kid," the man said, speaking to him for the first time, "Don't try and get out. If you do, only the God of Death awaits."

He gestured to the window and Robin leaned to look out. Below, he saw the jaguar. It was chained up outside now. Robin squinted and realized that there was a chain running around the side of the castle in both directions. The cat could likely pace all the way around the building. But it couldn't get away because it was connected to that ground chain by about three feet of chain which was tied tightly around its neck. The great cat was standing below, gazing up at the window, its eyes narrowed.

It was almost invisible in the dark, except for those eyes, which glinted in the coming moonlight.

"You're fools to keep a big cat like that," Robin commented, "Sooner or later, something will happen. Someone will make a mistake. And that cat's mad enough to kill anyone who gets close."

"What makes you think that has not already happened?" the man asked.

He didn't wait for Robin to answer. Instead, he simply left, closing the door between the study and the bedroom behind him. In a few minutes, Robin heard someone moving around in there. He assumed it must be Bernard. He looked out the window again.

No wonder Supay was lurking here. He could be anywhere, on any side of the building. But he didn't want to be just anywhere. Regardless of what anyone might say about animal psychology, Robin was certain of one thing: Supay despised William Bernard. Supay hated the man with every fiber of his powerful being. He wanted the man dead. It was that hatred which drove his every action. It was the cat's one motivation in life.

Robin felt a chill run down his spine.

It was unsettling to see such passionate loathing in the eyes of an animal. Generally, that level of animosity was thought to be a singularly human condition. But if ever an animal could hate, that one most certainly did. And Robin was in the dangerous position of being within spitting distance of the object of the animal's spite.

It was not a good position to be in.

But Robin did not intend to stick around for long. Bernard's men had not been as thorough in disarming him as Carver had been. They'd only taken his belt, as though they thought everything he carried with him would be in the belt. It was like they'd never heard of pockets or something.

He soon found that he was somewhat handicapped however. He was still only wearing one glove, his right one. He was right handed by nature, though he'd learned to use his left hand too. That wasn't the problem. The issue was that the sting in his palm had swollen and was hindering his fine motor control. He had a lock pick in his right glove, but he fumbled trying to get at it. And too, the metal cuff on his left wrist was improperly secured and was already starting to rub the skin of his arm raw.

At last Robin got the lock pick out of his glove. And promptly dropped it on the floor.

"Darn," Robin hissed softly.

He couldn't reach it with his hands. The chain which held him to the wall was too short. Now he had a reason to lie on the floor. He lay down and tried to pick up the pick with his teeth. It was still too far away. He stretched as much as he could, but couldn't get it. The cuffs pulled tight, chafing his exposed left wrist. But it did no good. He turned around and tried to get it with his boot.

He could reach it, but couldn't get it to come across the rug. It caught on the fabric and he couldn't get it with his boot. He looked at the rug, wondering if maybe he could tear it. He certainly couldn't move it. Not as big as it was, nor with all the furniture that was standing on it. It looked too strong to rip with bare hands. No good, he'd have to try something else.

Robin sat back on the floor and tried to work the circulation back into his left hand while he thought. This was so stupid. Of all the stupid things that could have prevented his escape, this was the absolute stupidest of them. It was really, really stupid. That was the only word for it.

There was nothing for it, he'd just have to try getting it with his teeth again. It was only barely out of reach. He sighed. This was definitely going to leave a mark. But it would be worth it, just to not be tied up anymore. Robin hated captivity. And he really hated being held hostage. Sidekicks never got any respect. Criminals only paid attention to them because of who they traveled with. If you were a sidekick, people were either making fun of you or trying to catch you to hold you hostage.

Frankly it was insulting.

Robin let his frustration keep his mind off the pain in his wrists as the cuffs drew tight.

It was really annoying. Nobody ever got excited to see him. It was always Batman. That was all anybody cared about. Robin might as well not even exist. It wasn't fair. He trained hard, fought hard. He knew multiple languages and was the best darned motorcyclist in Gotham, even aside from his other talents. He could solve complex math problems in his head. What more did anybody want? But nobody cared about any of that. It was just Batman, Batman, Batman. All the time Batman. It was-

He grabbed the lock pick and quickly withdrew to where the chain met the wall, his irritation completely forgotten. He was getting out of this madhouse.

His left hand throbbed and he felt a sticky wetness around his wrist. He took the lock pick in his right hand, which worked only a little better. The muscles in his arm were uncooperative, but it was better than using his nearly useless off-hand. In a moment, the cuffs were off.

Robin stood up and examined his left wrist. He'd really done a number on it this time. A dark ring of blood encircled it where the cuff had cut into it. This was one of the reasons he had gloves that went nearly to his elbow. They were pretty good protection against stuff like this.

He stretched his shoulders, something he hadn't been able to do since his hands had been cuffed. He felt stiff and sore, but that was nothing new.

Robin looked out the window. Supay was prowling listlessly. Almost as soon as Robin looked out the window, the jaguar stopped pacing and looked up at him. It growled. Robin couldn't hear it very well, but it still made him shiver a little. It was like the cat had sensed him looking at it.

He shook his head. Never mind that. What he needed to do was find a phone and let Batman know where he was. He also needed to get out of here. He sighed. Phone first.

He didn't know where he was, or where he'd be able to find another phone. Besides, Batman needed to know what sort of madman he was up against, just in case Robin didn't get off the property.


	14. Chapter 14

The door between the study and the bedroom squeaked. That meant Robin didn't want to risk going through it. He didn't especially want to go that way even if the door didn't squeak, just in case half an hour wasn't enough time for Bernard to go to sleep.

This wasn't a big problem for him, it only meant he needed to climb out the window. After that he'd have to find a way back in. While it was true he could simply break through a window, especially a skylight, that was somewhat undesirable because of the noise factor.

In truth, it was really more of an annoyance than an actual problem that there wasn't a phone in this room. There was a plug for it, so there had been a phone in here. It had probably been taken out when the room was converted into a makeshift prison. Even the D-ring attached to the wall was a rather slap-dashed affair. It was almost like this had been thrown together at the last minute.

Something about all that was vaguely troubling, but Robin turned his attention to the window. It was a double hung window, looking a little out of place what with the castle-like exterior of the building. But Robin wasn't worried about aesthetics. What did concern him was the size of the window.

Double hung windows were composed of two sashes, often with grilles which divided the panes of glass into smaller panes. But the real issue was that the two sashes overlapped. Meaning that, whether the top sash was pulled down or the bottom one pushed up, there was a space only half as tall as the window itself. Even if you pulled the sashes to a midpoint and folded the window out, there would still be a bar in halfway up the jamb.

There were six windows along the northeast side of the study, facing the front. They offered a spectacular third story view of the clipped lawn, manicured hedges and impressive twelve foot high wrought iron gate set in the brick wall surrounding the property.

The windows were rectangular, tall, about six feet high. The problem was that they were very, very narrow. Robin judged that he had maybe sixteen inches to work with, probably less. Plenty to wiggle through to the other side, but not much to work with if you were three stories up and needed to not fall.

He looked out the window, trying to see the outside sill. It was exceedingly narrow, virtually nonexistent. This was not going to be easy.

Once again, it was true that Robin could break the window, but that would make a lot of noise.

In fact, he wasn't entirely sure this was going to work at all. The house might have a security system which would be set off by a window being opened. But many people didn't secure their entire house. They figured nobody would climb three stories up. Some people only secured the first floor. Heck, some people only secured their _doors_, like they thought it was impossible for someone to come in through the window. Like it was harder to get though a _piece of glass _than solid wood or steel.

Examination of the window revealed no sign of a security system being in place. But it did bring something else odd to light. The paint on the window frame was a lot newer than what was on the trim running around the floor and near the ceiling. It was also a slightly different color. Just slightly, you'd only notice it if you were looking closely.

_It's almost like the windows were installed yesterday,_ Robin thought.

Or possibly even more recently than that? Robin was naturally suspicious. The windows were precisely the right size to make it a huge pain to get through them, but it was not impossible. Robin tried to remember the other windows, how they had looked when he came in.

He'd only gotten a brief look. He'd been carried in over someone's shoulder, with his cape hanging over his head. He'd only seen the outside because he was set down upright on the front porch. The dining hall had no windows. Neither did the hallway on the second floor, or the third. The bedroom windows had been hidden behind thick drapes.

Nevertheless, Robin felt strongly that there was something weird about these windows. Like they really should not be here. That made him reluctant to go through them.

But there was no other option. Besides staying here and doing nothing, that is. It was the tiny windows or the squeaky door. He didn't like his options. But he had to make a decision.

Robin chose the window. He unlocked one of the windows and pushed the glass all the way up. He locked it into place and leaned out to get a better look at the wall above and below him.

Supay had noticed his activity. The big cat stood at the end of his chain, just barely unable to reach the bottom of the wall. The short tail lashed, the bright eyes gleamed. The cat looked almost pleased, as though he felt it was inevitable that Robin should fall. Or maybe he was simply delighted to have something to amuse himself with. Looking down, Robin had the uneasy impression of a cat waiting by a mouse hole. Infinite patience, infinite confidence, both of which were set upon a solid foundation of incredible power and almost supernaturally fast reflexes.

"Well, going down doesn't look like an option," Robin muttered to himself.

He'd thought of forcing his way in through one of the doors on the first floor. But Supay was too close to the building. It might be possible for Robin to climb across and then down to the front porch, a point beyond the cat's reach, but he didn't much care for that option.

Too much exposure. He'd be climbing around for too long. And the cat would undoubtedly get more excited once Robin came down to his level. And the last thing Robin wanted was for the cat to roar. No, the better option was to find another window, one he could pop the latch on and climb through.

Most of the windows were barred. They also didn't look like they opened. Fixed windows all along this side of the building. All except for one, down on the first floor. A large casement window. It was uncomfortably close to where Supay was prowling now, almost directly below Bernard's bedroom.

This was wrong. It was all wrong. Robin felt his heart begin to race. He was sure now that he was being set up. But why? To what end? They'd already caught him, why start playing games?

Robin looked across the silvered lawn, towards the wall. A hundred and thirty yards separated him from that wall. The size of a football field. And there was no cover between here and there. Robin wasn't concerned about the chained Supay. He could jump over the cat. But what else was out there?

Trap or no trap, he couldn't just stay here. He had to do something. His best bet was the window on the first floor. He could get to a phone. It didn't matter that he didn't know where he was. Just calling Wayne Manor should be enough. Given enough time, the call could be traced.

Robin doubted he had any real chance of escape. This whole thing was staged. He was acting out someone's plan, doing exactly as they led him to. No wonder they hadn't searched him thoroughly. They wanted him to escape. But why? And, if that's really what they wanted, why had they made it so darn difficult and hazardous to do? Why not make it easy?

_Because I wasn't supposed to notice,_ Robin thought.

He was supposed to be smart enough to escape, but too dumb to realize he was being played. It fit what Bernard had been saying earlier. His claim was that living things were all about survival at any cost. Bernard expected Robin to ignore the warning signs and keep trying to get away.

What really irked Robin was that, in this, William Bernard was mostly correct. It lent support to a view point which Robin was convinced was hopelessly and fundamentally flawed. But it was close enough to right that Bernard would likely never know the difference. That made it worse than the most wildly incorrect theory out there.

But Robin had other motivations, even aside from his own desire to survive and escape. This William Bernard character was highly dangerous. He had to be stopped. If that meant walking directly into a set trap to warn Batman, Robin was willing to take that risk.

He wondered what Bernard would say about that. He'd probably claim Robin was just deluding himself, that his true motivation was to contact Batman so he could be rescued. Robin wouldn't mind being rescued at this point. He was not too proud for that. Again, the belief was close enough to accurate that it might as well be right.

Robin slid awkwardly out of the window and began to climb down the wall. He had already accepted that this was going to be very uncomfortable, though he hadn't fully imagined exactly _how_ unpleasant it would be. His ribs screamed in protest when he sort of twisted to get out of the window. His left hand burned, especially when he put weight on it, and his arm put in its own protest as well.

Robin had to focus to ignore all of that, as well as the sense of impending doom hanging over him.

Far below, Supay crouched, eyes glinting coldly in the moonlight.

* * *

><p>Alfred was dusting the living room. There wasn't much to dust, because it was something he did often. And anyway, nobody had been in this room for days. Bruce had barely left the batcave, except occasionally to sleep. And he only seemed to do that to humor Alfred. He wasn't eating.<p>

Alfred had more than once attempted to entice him to eat. But Bruce was deeply disturbed by what he'd found at the crash site. He hadn't gone into details, except to mention that one man was dead. Alfred had a feeling that it was this death which had disturbed him.

In a few minutes, Alfred intended to fix dinner as he always did and bring it downstairs to the batcave, where he was certain it would be ignored by Bruce. But at least it would be there, just in case he decided that maybe he was hungry after all.

Alfred was nothing if not dedicated to trying to keep his boss alive and well.

The phone rang.

Alfred glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was a bit late for callers. Even friends, who were apt to call later than anyone else. Alfred considered not answering the phone. Protocol dictated that this was an incredibly rude time to call. But, if he didn't answer and it turned out to be an emergency of some kind, he would never be able to live with it. Besides, he had certain duties as a butler, and one of them involved answering the phone. Often to brush off reporters and the curious.

"Wayne Manor," Alfred said in his clipped way, "May I ask who is calling at this late hour?"

"_Alfred! Thank goodness, I was afraid you'd be downstairs."_

Alfred started to speak, surprised and elated to here the voice of Dick Grayson. But Dick cut him off swiftly, preventing him from even saying the first word of his greeting.

"_Look, I don't have much time. I don't know where I am. I need you to get this call traced. I'm being held hostage in some sort of weird castle. It belongs to a man named William Bernard. I think he's some kind of millionaire businessman. But, there's something weird about this. I mean really-"_

There was a loud crash and Robin stopped speaking suddenly. There was a clatter, like the phone had been dropped on a desk. This was followed by a pained cry. Alfred recognized it as being Robin's voice. There was more crashing. He was struggling with someone.

Quickly, Alfred left the phone and dashed to the stairs. He abandoned his usual dignified air and practically leaped down to the batcave. There wasn't much time. That phone could be hung up any second. And then they wouldn't be able to trace it.

They had to hurry or else Robin's efforts might have been in vain.

* * *

><p>Robin's howl of pain had been elicited by one of Bernard's hired thugs grabbing him by the right arm and spinning him around. Robin could almost hear the bones creaking under the pressure. But more painful was the pressure against the sting site. Robin was momentarily blinded by it. The strength went out of him for a moment and he would have dropped to his knees if the man hadn't been holding his arm.<p>

But then the man let go of Robin's arm, seeming surprised by the reaction. Robin recovered his self control almost once, and a power struggle ensued. Robin got the upper hand against the lone man, but then his two friends came in. Between the three of them, they managed to wrestle Robin to the floor.

The lights came on and William Bernard stepped nimbly into the room.

"Clever bird," Bernard said, looking down on Robin, "Did you really think it would be so easy to escape? Did you really think you were a more adept survivor than I am? You're a mere boy, living in the shadow of a legend. I _am_ a legend. You stood no chance."

"More than you might think," Robin spat, though it was more of a gasp, the thugs were leaning heavily on him, cutting off his air supply, "You think I didn't realize this was a trap? How big of an idiot do you think I am anyway?"

"I think," Bernard said, stepping close and slamming the end of his cane against the floor just an inch short of Robin's face, "that you are a creature that wants to survive, and will fight to do so at any cost. In that, we are little different, my young friend."

"I don't think we have anything in common," Robin retorted hotly, "I wouldn't be caught dead in those pajamas."

Bernard looked down at his attire. He was wearing red silk pajamas and a black velvet robe. His monocle and cigarette holder were absent, but he had brought his silver cane.

"You're one to be making fashion comments," one of the thugs growled, "You do realize you're wearing brightly colored tights and a yellow cape, don't you?"

"I do, but I'm surprised you noticed," Robin gasped, his voice barely audible, "Because you don't seem to be aware that you're choking me with your elbow on my neck."

The man shifted his weight and Robin took a wheezing breath.

"You really are a fool, aren't you?" Bernard sighed, "Well, I think that's probably long enough."

With that, he reached over with his cane and hooked the phone. He lifted it and brought it over to his hand. He then set it in its cradle. There was a dull click.

"And now the hook has been baited a second time," Bernard said.

He then turned to the three men, but his eyes settled on Robin.

"Take him away. And see that he doesn't get away this time."


	15. Chapter 15

Robin spent an uncomfortable night in a large metal-barred crate. He guessed it had, at least at some point in time, been used to house Supay. The sturdy bars were marked by something that looks like teeth, and the concrete floor it was welded to bore claw marks from something jaguar sized.

Robin found these marks via touch, because the crate was in a basement, and there was no light. There was also no heating. The concrete was miserably cold to lie on.

Before being put in there, Robin had been stripped, thoroughly and roughly searched. Only after several people had carefully gone over his clothes were they given back. He was then deposited in what one of the thugs called 'the kitty crate'.

A metal bowl was attached to one wall of the crate. This bowl had water in it. Other than that, the crate was entirely empty. It was a long, miserable night.

Robin was awakened by a creaking door and footsteps on stone stairs. He was huddled in the back corner of the crate. He opened his eyes reluctantly and then blinked rapidly. Bright light came streaming in from an open door at the top of the stairs across the room.

William Bernard was standing at the foot of the stairs, his cane planted between his feet. He was fully dressed, including monocle and bowler hat. He was wearing the same thing as when he'd found Robin at the crash site, except that he was now wearing a blood red tie with three jagged black streaks across the lower half of it, evidently meant to look like claw marks of some kind.

"Congratulations," Bernard said, "I'm sure you realize what it is that you did last night."

"Ugh," Robin grumbled, trying to move and finding it a highly unpleasant activity, "Yes. Do you?"

"Of course," Bernard replied cheerily, "You did what no threat on your life ever could. Hearing your voice activated a powerful parental instinct. Whereas, if I had made a threat, I would be dealing with possession instinct, or territorial behavior. Make no mistake, you can be viewed either as a possession of the bat, or as his offspring."

"Ew."

"Animals are extremely territorial. But the ones that raise their young are very concerned about them. They will starve themselves to death to ensure that the offspring are fed. They will break all territorial boundaries to find their missing young. Normally passive animals become hyper-aggressive. A wildebeest will turn to attack a pride of lions to defend its calf. Only with young are animals so reckless. And this is because the young are their future. Their immortality."

"Here we go," Robin rolled his eyes.

He didn't feel like hearing any more speeches, especially not first thing in the morning. He felt that he was suffering quite enough without also having to listen to this drivel.

"The bat will come. And he will establish new territory around his young. It is his nature, just as it is the nature of all living things to guard their young. He has no choice."

"Do you ever listen to yourself?" Robin asked, trying to hold back a yawn, "I mean, clearly you enjoy hearing yourself talk. But do you ever listen to what you're saying? Or just how you sound while you're saying it? Really, I'd love to know."

"What do you mean?" Bernard asked.

"Batman's not an animal. And he's definitely nothing like what you're describing. You think he cares about me? Sure he does. But if you think that's enough to make him do what you want, you've got another think coming. Batman loves Gotham. Because of that, if nothing else, he will never make his home here. He belongs in Gotham. _To_ Gotham. And it belongs to him."

"Animals are not concerned with location," Bernard said in a matter of fact way, "They are concerned with resources. Food. Water. Shelter. Well, he'll have all of that. Everything he needs, including plenty of criminals to prey upon."

"Well then he's not an animal, because location does matter to him. He won't stay here. You can't make him do anything," Robin said.

"Of course not. I will merely alter the environment to suit him better, and he will move in on his own."

"Or, like that jaguar out there, he'll turn on you. And let me tell you something, you have a lot less control over Batman than you have over that cat, which is none at all."

"You will see," Bernard said confidently, "I am in control. As far as your sire is concerned, from this point forward I am Nature. I am God. I will provide for him, and he will do my bidding."

"Where do you _get_ these delusions?" Robin scoffed, shaking his head.

"They are not delusions. And you will see that for yourself. Very soon."

* * *

><p>Batman had traced Robin's call to a large mansion perched on a hill. It was an ugly building, one of those which stood as an example of what happened when things were built simply to prove how much money you had, rather than purchasing or building something nice because you had money.<p>

The ten acre property was surrounded by a wrought iron fence. There were at least a hundred trees between the street and the building itself, huge oaks and smaller aspens made the mansion itself invisible from the street, except for its slanted black roof which peered menacingly over the tops of the trees. Thick hedges lined the curving driveway.

It was just before dawn when Batman swung onto the roof and found his way in through a skylight on the third floor. He dropped down into a Victorian-themed ballroom. The room was empty, so he quickly left it, the back of his mind noting that the third floor was an odd place to put a ballroom.

As he searched the house, he began to have an unsettled feeling. All the rooms were furnished, each in a different style. For example, there was a bathroom that looked like something out of the sixties, done in pastels, mostly yellow. Art deco seemed to be the theme of the first bedroom he came to. This was followed by a study with a very Asian feel to it. It was all very weird and nothing fit together.

Each room looked like a showpiece out of a magazine. Almost like nobody really lived here.

Something else soon became apparent. There were no lights on, and no sounds anywhere in the house, other than the usual. The fridge in the contemporary kitchen on the first floor was humming, there was the steady and easily forgotten hum of an air conditioner. Some of the rooms had overhead fans which whirred as they spun in the dark.

But the couches and chairs did not look like they'd been sat on. The beds were absurdly unwrinkled, as only beds which have never been slept on can be. The carpeting and wood flooring were undamaged, as though no shoes had ever touched them. The decorative mirrors were polished, not a single fingerprint on the any part of them. The kitchen was perfectly clean and was complete with a bowl of limes and green apples in the center of the island counter.

It was an empty house, set up for showing.

"They knew," Batman growled aloud to himself, "They knew the call was being traced."

They must have somehow bounced the signal so that the trace led here, instead of wherever the call had originated from. But what was the point of all that? It didn't make any kind of sense.

Batman was standing in a living room eerily similar to his own when he realized this. A television suddenly clicked on. The sound startled him, but he quickly realized it was simply on a timer.

William Bernard appeared on the screen, dressed in the peculiar way that he had become famous for.

"_Welcome, Batman. To your new home."_

He tipped his hat while Batman did a double take.

"Come again?" he realized it was absurd to address the television even as he did so.

"_I'm quite certain you are clever enough to understand your circumstances, yet it may take time for you to accept them. I understand that. That was the reason for the misdirection. If you found your protege on the spot, you'd doubtless turn around and go home, making all of my efforts in vain."_

Batman frowned, wondering what the man was getting at.

"_I'll make this very simple. This is your new home, as I have stated. You may not enjoy living under a roof provided by myself at first, which I completely understand. However, you are free to live here, in this house, and to rearrange it as you like. Because you are going to stay here. We both know why."_

"Robin," Batman growled.

"_Please, turn this city upside down and inside out looking for your whelp. Knock over every criminal establishment you can find, and hunt muggers to your heart's content. But one thing you must not do is leave. Not now that you are here. When you entered the building you were sprayed with a substance. You neither saw it nor felt it, but it's very real. I can track you now, wherever you go. And if you leave... well, let's just say your offspring won't. Ever."_

Batman's eyes narrowed. The man dared make threats of this kind? Fury coursed through him. Of all the things Batman did not like, having the people he cared about endangered to get at him was pretty much at the top of the list.

"_In time, you will find that this new environment is well suited to your needs. In time, you will come to claim this city as your new home. It's not a bad place to live, as I'm sure you'll see. This city needs you, Batman. You are the key to its survival. And to mine."_

The television clicked off, but Batman continued to stare at it.

He'd heard many death threats. And many criminals had tried to control him and get him to participate in their insane schemes. But never had any of them tried to employ him. Not like this. William Bernard had told him to hunt, to capture criminals, to act normally in every way. Every way except one. He was a long, long way from Gotham.

Oddly, Bernard had placed no restrictions on him. There was no area he was told to stay away from, no group he was instructed not to molest. Bernard had given him absolute freedom within the city limits.

But a cage was still a cage, no matter how you decorated it, and that's what this was. Bernard had lured him in and now had shut the door. Maybe he couldn't see the cage, or touch it. But he could feel it, it was real. And he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

* * *

><p>Robin might have been in the dark literally speaking, but he was fast coming to understand what was going on. In the unlit basement, it probably seemed to his captors that he was cut off from any useful information. But such was not the case.<p>

The basement was a great echoing chamber, carrying sound from all parts of the house. At least, all sounds from the first floor. Listening carefully, Robin could make out everything from the maids' footsteps to the jaguar clawing at the floor in the dining hall. He could even hear the low rumble of vehicles driving up to the front door, though it was more like feeling the vibration than hearing it.

There were six maids, a chef with an assistant, and always at least eight security men within close proximity to the house. The three thugs Robin had tangled with were apparently the jaguar wranglers. It was their job to move Supay from one place to another at their boss's every whim.

There seemed to be a place for Supay in the dining hall, the living room and some undetermined point upstairs. There was also a back room the cat was shut in when William Bernard left the premises. Evidently his employees were not so enamored of his pet as he was. Robin didn't blame them.

It was Robin's opinion that wild animals did not make good pets, and that they should not be taken to populated areas. Even so, there was a clear difference between... say, Penguin's vultures or Harley's hyenas and this particular big cat. Robin had been raised in the circus, and therefore knew something about getting wild things to perform.

Many people seemed to think that you did that through fear and intimidation. But, if you went that direction, sooner or later you'd wind up dead. You could wind up dead anyway. An overstimulated tiger could easily turn on his handler. Tigers were not only wild, and cats, but they were also naturally solitary, unlike lions, which were group animals. But lions were also cats, and cats were contrary and tended to have a superior air. In the case of big cats, it was a valid attitude. In the wild, there were few things which could compete with big cats. They were top predators.

To think you could take such a creature and have it submit to the will of man, when it did not even bow in the face of nature itself, was a fantasy of such gigantic proportions that it was amazing anyone believed in it. Even a hand-raised, carefully handled and properly trained big cat could turn dangerous in an instant. And that was if you did everything right, including treating it with the proper respect.

Supay was obviously not treated correctly. And that would make him all the more dangerous. He had clearly been frightened half to death at some point in his life, probably more than once. Robbed of the ability to escape, he turned to fighting. At this point, it was unlikely that Supay would even consider flight. Fighting was all he knew he could do. And he would take out his frustrated anger on whoever was in clawing distance. He was a predator, designed to kill almost daily. And he was being prevented from doing so, from even simulating such behavior. That might seem like a wise idea, but it was not.

No matter how many times he recalculated, Robin's thoughts always returned to Supay. Robin liked animals, and it wounded him to see them treated like this. But it was more than that. Somehow, he had the very real feeling that Supay was the biggest threat on the property.

It was an odd feeling. Not only was Supay confined, but he had the least reason to come after Robin specifically. The men with guns were the ones he needed to be worried about. But somehow, he could only think of them as a poor joke in comparison with the great cat.

Supay. The Inca God of Death.

Somehow he doubted that it was just a name.


	16. Chapter 16

"Where can I find William Bernard!?" Batman snarled.

As Bernard had predicted, or perhaps instructed, Batman was tearing the city apart to find him. So far, he had met with no success. At one point, he'd thought he was getting somewhere.

He'd shaken up the director of a casino Bernard owned. He had been pointed towards another man, who proved to be one of Bernard's lawyers. That had led him to another lawyer. All three men were crooked, each in their different ways. The casino director was rigging the games. The first lawyer was stealing resources from his company. The second one had a tendency to look the other way if he was paid enough. The trail dead ended when that lawyer sent him back to the casino director.

He'd come to this shipping warehouse because it was owned by Bernard. He'd met with heavy resistance, but the fighting was all over now, and he was holding the man in charge of the operation by the lapels.

"WHERE!?"

"I-I don't know," the man stammered, shaking his head, "I never go to him. He comes to me, or calls."

"What's the number?" Batman growled, eyes narrowing.

Maybe this was the lead he was looking for. Maybe this would lead him to Bernard at last. For two nights, he'd done nothing but chase ghosts. He'd caught a lot of criminals, but that only served to make him angry. Stopping crime was almost compulsive with him. He just couldn't ignore a mugging in the street, and couldn't let thieves and other lowlifes go free.

But he was doing what Bernard wanted. _Exactly_ what he wanted. And that was frustrating.

The man managed to gulp down enough fear to say the number. Batman had him repeat it, just to be sure he had said it right the first time. It was the number Robin had been calling from.

Batman dropped the man on the floor. He stood still for a moment, listening to the approaching sirens. These guys were crooked too. The shipping containers were full of people. People from other countries, coming in illegally and being essentially sold into slavery as a result.

Batman shook his head.

This wasn't the whole operation. There were people at the other end, and the man cowering at his feet surely wasn't the man in charge. But who was? Was it Bernard? Certainly he owned the warehouse. But why set Batman on his own operations? That made absolutely no sense. No, it had to be somebody else. Probably somebody working for Bernard, doing this without his knowledge.

All that only meant that Batman had once again accomplished almost nothing.

On the other hand, whatever happened to those people in the shipping containers from here on out was better than it would have been otherwise. He supposed he should feel good about that.

But he didn't really. He hadn't solved the problem, not really.

He hadn't even solved his own problem. He still didn't have a clue where Bernard was hiding.

* * *

><p>Robin was startled to hear Melina's soft footsteps coming towards the basement door. His internal time sense told him that it was not her usual hour. She was the one who brought his meals and refilled the water bowl attached to the wall. But this was not 'feeding time'.<p>

It was unusual, to say the least. She was also alone. Usually she came with one of the cat wranglers. She would hurry in, push the tray under the bottom bar of the door, and then flee almost immediately. She generally avoided looking at Robin, or the wrangler. She was scared to death, and usually trembling. She was shaking now as she came down the stairs, her slight form illuminated by the upstairs lights.

Robin watched her from the back of his cage, curled up under his cape, which provided much needed warmth in this cold dungeon. That was the cape's usual function. Because, when in action, the body tended to get hot. There was a reason Robin wore short sleeves, even in winter. It had a lot to do with overheating from strenuous activity. But, when he was observing, standing still on a rooftop, things got cold. A warm cape was simply a must.

He didn't move as Melina approached, except to shift a little so that she knew where he was. It was dark in the back corner, and she was always reluctant to come close if she shouldn't see where Robin was.

She couldn't know that it didn't really matter. Robin was fast enough to launch himself across the cage faster than she could possibly withdraw. If he'd wanted to grab her, he would have already. But she did not know that, and evidently felt safer knowing he was at the back of the cage.

Melina came to just an arm's length from the cage door and then she sat down on the floor, tucking her legs under her and fastidiously straightening her skirt and apron across her thighs. Robin watched her in silence, somewhat perplexed by her behavior.

"I know who you are," she said after a long moment of silence.

Robin did not stir. He knew such a declaration could mean many things. More than one person had claimed to know who he was, yet almost no one had ever called him by name. More often, they meant simply that they knew what he was, what motivated him. They were usually wrong.

"I didn't before," Melina continued in a quiet, almost shy voice, her soft gaze on her hands, which lay in her lap, "But I do now."

"Oh?" Robin prompted when she was silent for a number of seconds.

"When he spoke of the bird, I always assumed he meant a real bird. Some sort of rare bird, which was very difficult to catch. But I never could understand what a bird and a bat could have to do with each other," she paused thoughtfully, "then I realized you were the bird."

Robin tilted his head. She sounded like she'd figured that out some time after seeing him the first time. Like she had not recognized him for what he was on sight. That was very odd. Just about everybody knew of Batman and Robin, though Robin himself was generally spoken of dismissively or in vague terms only. But everyone had _heard_ of him.

"Which means the bat must be another like you. He is here, you know."

Robin didn't bat an eye. Of course Batman was here. The only surprising thing was that he wasn't here precisely, but only in town. Robin had a theory about that, but he didn't say so.

"The television was left on today. While I was dusting, I saw a report on him. They called him 'Batman'. But the reporter said he belonged in Gotham. He's here for you, isn't he?"

"Probably," Robin said evasively.

"He is looking for you," Melina said.

"Yes."

"Because you are something of his. You belong to him?"

"If you want to phrase it that way," Robin replied cooperatively.

He didn't much like it being put in those terms. He didn't belong to anyone. Not in the way Melina seemed to be implying. He was not a thing to be put on a mantel, to be bought and sold. Of course, in his soul, he knew he'd already been bought and paid for. He didn't belong to Batman. He belonged to the night. Just like Batman. But he didn't feel like trying to explain this.

"He has fought many men, and left them for the police. He is fighting very hard for you."

"What's your point?" Robin asked, feeling a twinge of impatience.

"My own master would not do this for me," Melina admitted in a wounded voice, "I serve as best I as I can, but he would not fight in this way for me. He would not risk injury or death for my sake," she looked at Robin suddenly, her eyes flashing, "What have you done that your master loves you so?"

Robin blinked, taken aback by the question. When he stayed silent, Melina seemed to feel that he simply hadn't understood her, and so she rephrased the question.

"How did you make him care for you enough to come so far in search of you?"

Robin stared into her dark eyes, and saw that she was unloved, that she felt unwanted. She was desperate for someone to care about her. That was why she had come here. She knew Batman cared about Robin, knew that was why he had come here. She wanted to know how to acquire such love for herself.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, sighing wearily. She had been around people like Bernard for too long. Like Bernard, she believed you could play people like musical instruments, make them do as you wanted. She believed that the only reason she had no love was because she had not found out how to make it her own. She thought it was something you could control through your actions.

Poor girl.

"I didn't," Robin said, at last, "Nobody _makes_ him do anything."

"But William Bernard said-"

"William Bernard is wrong," Robin spat, "Batman isn't here because Bernard forced him to come here. Bringing me here didn't make Batman turn this city upside down and shake it to see what fell out of its pockets. He came here because he chose to. He chose to come looking for me."

"But he is here. For you."

"Yes, of course he is," Robin said patiently, wishing he had better words for her, that he could explain what he was talking about, "He is my friend. He chooses to care what happens to me. It's nothing I've done or haven't done. It's his choice."

"And if he did not choose to care for you?" Melina asked.

"So what if he didn't?" Robin shrugged.

"You would not be here if not for him," Melina pointed out.

"You got that right," Robin agreed.

It was more true than she would ever know. If not for Batman, it was quite possible Robin would have descended into a different kind of darkness. He would have made the wrong choice. But Batman had shown him a different path, offered him a choice. He hadn't even realized he was making a choice at the time. But he was. And, he felt, it had been the right one.

"So, you are obligated to serve him. Because he does these things for you," Melina was obviously referring to the news report, because that was all she could know about.

"That's where you're wrong," Robin disagreed, "I don't have to care about him any more than he has to care about me. I choose to fight by his side, and I usually answer to him. Because that's what I want to do. I've chosen service. I serve as a vigilante because I choose it. I choose to do right. At least, what I think is right. It's servitude, sure, but nobody's forcing me to do it. Nobody ever could."

"But-"

"Nobody makes me what I am," Robin said, a little more forcefully than he intended, "Nobody."

Melina stopped speaking. Her eyes fell and she stared at her hands. Robin had scared her. He was half afraid she would leave without saying anything else. He wasn't sure why it mattered to him, but it did.

"And if no one chooses to love you?" Melina's voice was soft, and cracked on the final word.

Robin realized she was bordering on tears. He bit his lip. He wanted to make her feel better, but he wasn't entirely sure how to do that. He sighed slowly.

"You can't get your sense of worth from other people," Robin said as gently as he could, "You can't force them to love you, or take care of you, or be nice to you. But what you can do is choose how you respond to them."

"If I can't make anyone love me, and no one does, shouldn't I stop loving them?" Melina asked.

"That's up to you. It hurts when someone doesn't share your feelings or ideals. Believe me, I know. You can't make anyone agree with you or love you. Sometimes, no matter how much you care for someone, no matter how much you do for them, they still won't love you. You have to realize that you're not entitled to reciprocated feelings."

Melina was crying now. She looked like she was going to cover her ears, but didn't. She simply held her hands up near her face and wept bitterly. Robin felt a pang of sympathy for her. He felt he'd said the wrong things, or said them in the wrong way.

He wanted to tell her that she deserved love, deserved better than whatever she was getting. But he knew that was the wrong attitude. People were horrible, messed up and pretty much deserved what they got. But, on the other hand, he felt that Melina could have a better life. Or at least a better perspective.

"But, just because someone doesn't value you, it doesn't mean you have no value," Robin said hesitantly, "There are a lot of paintings out there that I don't like. That I don't see the value of. If it were up to me to decide what they were worth, I'd say they weren't worth anything and have them burned to ashes. But those paintings, or some of them anyway, they're worth millions of dollars. I don't value them myself, but someone does. Someone cares enough to have paid over a million dollars for them."

"What are you saying?" Melina asked, and it sounded like she was desperate for a thread of hope to hang onto, like she felt herself falling into a dark and hopeless abyss.

"Look at me, Melina," Robin ordered softly.

Melina hesitated, then slowly looked up at him, her face still downcast. Her eyes were welling up with tears, salty droplets ran down the sides of her face. Her lips quivered.

"William Bernard may not care if you cry. But I do."

"You?" Melina asked, her voice tinged with disbelief, "Why should you care?"

She hastily grabbed at her skirt and pulled it down, as though afraid he would try to take advantage of her. She seemed to have forgotten the iron bars between them.

"You don't have to be afraid of me. I would never hurt you," Robin promised, "Not for anything."

"But... I... I have helped keep you prisoner here. How could you feel anything but anger towards me?"

"Because," Robin said, "It's not what you've done. It's what I've done. And what _I_ have done, Melina... is choose. I choose to care whether or not you cry or feel pain. Don't cry, Melina. Don't you think you've shed enough tears over the man who raped you?"


	17. Chapter 17

"How did you-... I mean-... he didn't..." Melina trailed off, staring at Robin.

Robin gazed back impassively, waiting for her to decide what she wanted to say. She was obviously torn between protest and wanting to know how he knew. Which meant that she knew, even though she was clearly in denial about it.

"He didn't rape me," she finally said, in an uneasily decisive tone.

"Didn't he?" Robin asked mildly.

"No," Melina sniffed, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand, "It's not like he dragged me into a dark alley or anything like that. I mean, I know him."

"You think that matters?" Robin asked, careful to keep a neutral tone.

"Well doesn't it?" Melina demanded, her eyes flashing protectively.

She was protecting herself as much as Bernard. Her loyalty was misplaced, Robin knew. But he wasn't going to tell her that. At least, not in those words. That would only serve to make her angry. He had to somehow get her to think about it for herself.

"He did force himself on you, right?"

"Well yes, but it wasn't like that. It was late, I was in my room. He was drunk. He's seventy years old for goodness sake!" she cried, her voice become hysterical, but still quiet.

She wasn't supposed to be down here and so kept her voice down.

"You think age makes a difference?" Robin asked, "What's the age limit on rape these days? Nobody over the age of sixty is allowed? If you're a senior citizen it doesn't count?"

Melina narrowed her eyes. Like Supay, she was becoming aggressive as an act of self defense. She felt that Robin was attacking her, and she didn't like it. She was wrong. Robin had been serious when he said he didn't want to hurt her. He was trying to be delicate, but it was important for her to see.

Until she realized that she was being abused, that what she was experiencing was not love, she could never be free. She was as much a prisoner as Robin himself. More so, in fact. Bernard had her body and her mind. He owned her. But he did not own Robin, any more than a poacher owned the animals he shot and then adorned his walls with.

"He loves me," Melina said, but her voice was weak.

"You believe that?" Robin asked.

"Of course."

"Then why were you in tears a few minutes ago? Why did you come to me to find out how to make someone love you? You know he doesn't love you. Not really. He's just using you. That's all."

"That isn't true," Melina got to her feet suddenly, her hands fisted at her sides, "You don't know!"

"I know suffering," Robin told her.

"You know anything!" she kicked the bars of the cage, turned and fled upstairs.

Robin watched her go, and shook his head when the door slammed. Maybe he was the one locked in a cage, the one in the darkness, but Melina was the one who had no light in her life. She was the one without any hope. He wondered how she'd come to be here.

He knew what Bernard would say. He'd say that Robin was trying to win Melina over so that she could help him. Maybe she could get the keys to the cage and set him free. That was possible, and Robin wasn't so out of it that he hadn't thought of that. But that wasn't his motivation.

Frankly, right at the moment, he could care less what she did or didn't do for him. More than anything, he wanted her to be free. He wanted her to get out of this situation, find a better way to live. But that would only happen when she realized that she had a choice.

Even if Batman nailed William Bernard, Melina would just go find someone else like him, who would strike her and call it love, force himself on her and say it was because he needed her. She would not only let it happen, but she would actually seek it out, if only subconsciously.

She had no sense of self worth. She probably recognized rape as being wrong, but thought she deserved it because she wasn't worth anything. She had no value unless someone was enjoying having their way with her. She didn't realize that how she viewed herself was her choice. How other people viewed her really didn't matter. She had no control over that. Only she could define herself. And right now she was defining herself as a willing victim.

Robin sighed wearily. It seemed that William Bernard drew people like her to him. He drew people who were easily dominated, who allowed their own morals to be corrupted by him and then excused themselves by saying that he valued them, or that they had no choice.

Or, as in the case of the pilot, that this was the last time.

They were all kidding themselves.

Perhaps a girl like Melina couldn't prevent Bernard from physically forcing her to do something. Maybe she'd even been brought against her will and couldn't get off the property. But one thing Bernard could not control was her thoughts. Not unless she allowed him to do so. She was allowing him to mess with her head. She'd convinced herself that it was right.

"Your situation doesn't define you, Melina," Robin told the closed door, "You do."

* * *

><p>When Melina came down with a tray later, she pointedly avoided looking at Robin. He saw that she no longer seemed to fear him. Instead, she just despised him. She didn't like what he'd said to her. People didn't like it when you pointed out that they were wrong about something.<p>

She'd brought one of the wranglers with her, he stood on the bottom step of the stairs, his arms crossed and a fierce scowl on his face. But his eyes kept wandering to Melina. She was beautiful, and she was vulnerable. And he was not a nice man. None of the wranglers were.

"Go back upstairs, Melina," Robin whispered quietly, "Right now."

"You don't tell me what to do," Melina hissed back.

Robin looked from her to the man. He'd noticed the man's expression towards Melina before. But Bernard had been here since Robin's capture. He'd left this morning though, and hadn't come back. Bernard wasn't a good man, but he'd claimed Melina as his property. So long as he was present, nobody else would dare to touch her. But he wasn't here now.

"I'm serious, Melina. Go upstairs," Robin said, more urgently.

He shifted from his curled up position, easing into a crouch. His eyes were now fixed on the wrangler, who couldn't really see him in the shadows. But Robin could see the wrangler. He was clearly lit by the light from the top of the stairs. Robin could read his body language like a book.

The wrangler was fighting with himself. He wanted to do something. But he was concerned about repercussions. Robin could see that the battle was already lost. The wrangler would do something. If Melina didn't get out of the basement, and fast, she would be in trouble.

She needed to get back upstairs where other people were. The wrangler would lose his nerve. Not that nobody could hear anything happening down here. But Melina was less than half his size. He was undoubtedly calculating overpowering her and shutting the door to the upstairs. Here, alone in the dark, he was feeling very brave, very good about himself. The one witness didn't bother him. A prisoner would say anything to improve his circumstances. Nobody would believe Robin over him.

"Melina!" Robin hissed, but she ignored him.

Robin saw that the wrangler was set on his course now. He hurried up the stairs to the door as Melina pushed the tray into the cage, but she wasn't as careful as before. She'd lost her fear of Robin. In an instant he lunged forward and caught her by the arm.

"Hey!" Melina cried, twisting in his grip, but he didn't let go.

Escape was cut off. He needed her to stay here, in arm's reach. Otherwise he couldn't help her.

"Let me go!" She struck at him with her free hand, but Robin was listening to the wrangler coming down the stairs and ignored her.

The man fumbled for the light switch that flicked on a dull bulb overhead. They didn't usually bother turning it on because it wasn't really any better than the light from the stairs. But that door was closed now, and the wrangler wasn't comfortable moving in total darkness.

Melina twisted free of Robin and turned. She opened her mouth to scream, realizing too late the danger she was in. The wrangler clapped a hand over her mouth and pushed her down to the floor, falling on top of her. She struggled in his grip. Her dark eyes looked towards Robin, pleading for help.

But she was just out of reach.

"Stop it!" Robin snarled, and threw himself against the bars.

It was a futile gesture, and his words went ignored. Robin turned and lay on his back so that he could kick the door. It didn't do any good. A loud bang reverberated through the empty basement, echoing like a gunshot. But the door held. Robin heaved his shoulder against the cage door again.

"No! Let me go!" Melina cried, her voice high-pitched with fear.

Robin knew he couldn't break out of the cage. He'd already examined it. He'd already tried to get out. But he couldn't just sit there and do nothing. He struck out at it, threw his weight against it, pushing at the door and the bars, but it didn't do any good.

Then he heard a jingling sound. It took him a moment to pinpoint its location. Somehow, Melina had gotten hold of the keys the wrangler carried on his belt. She'd thrown them towards the cage. Robin reached through the bars and snatched them up as the wrangler ripped open Melina's blouse.

He didn't get any further than that.

In a flash, Robin had stuck the key in the lock and opened the cage. He practically exploded from it, barreling into the side of the wrangler with his full weight. The wrangler rolled and struck against the side of the staircase. Robin landed just past Melina, crouching low, eying his opponent.

"The lady said to let her go," Robin growled.

The wrangler moaned and sat up slowly, putting a hand against his head where he'd hit the stairs. He pulled his hand away and examined the dark blood on his fingers.

"You little brat," he snarled, "You'll pay for that."

"Oh yeah?" Robin mocked, "Why don't you come and make me?"

Robin knew he wasn't in top form. Even a few days of confinement had left him slow and feeling uncoordinated. But he was plenty well enough to bring this sleaze down.

The man got unsteadily to his feet and charged like a mad bull. Robin darted sideways and aimed an elbow at the passing wrangler's ribcage. The man gasped, staggered and nearly fell. Robin turned and hopped onto the man's back. He wrapped his legs around the wrangler's neck and swung so that they were facing, then heaved his weight backwards.

The wrangler struggled to keep his balance, but he fell forward and was flipped onto his back. Robin rolled with him, changing positions. He brought his left knee down so that it rested across the man's throat. His boot pinned the man's left arm.

"Give up?" Robin asked.

The man thrashed and Robin hopped back, knowing he hadn't the strength to keep the man down. At the same time, he heard a ruckus upstairs. They'd made enough noises to attract attention.

Instinct bade Robin fight, but reason told him to give it up now. There were too many men up there. He could not fight them all at once. Now was not the time to escape. He stood no chance with the whole place alerted. He didn't give up right away.

He gave the man on the floor a sound kick to the head, knocking him out.

"Are you alright, Melina?" Robin asked, turning towards her.

She was sitting up on the floor, clutching her torn blouse to her chest. She nodded.

"If you're willing to listen to me, don't tell them what really happened. Tell them I took the wrangler's keys and beat him up. Tell them you tried to break up the fight. That's how your blouse got torn."

"But that's not the truth," Melina protested.

"No. The truth is that you set the prisoner free, allowing me to attack one of their buddies. You think they're gonna like that?"

"But you-"

"They hate me either way. What you did was not wrong, and you should not be punished."

"But-"

"Sh!" Robin hissed, turning to face the stairs, "They're coming down now."

* * *

><p>The other wranglers and the security men were incensed that Robin had not only almost escaped their grasp, but also beaten up one of their number. It was entirely possible that they were more upset that a puny brat had beat up one of their big, tough friends than anything else.<p>

Either way, they weren't willing to let bygones be bygones.

Robin touched a bruise on the side of his face ruefully. Mostly they'd punched him in the gut, but one of them had hit him in the face too, leaving a bruise and split lip behind. They were bullies, the lot of them, and Robin was not impressed.

They'd beaten him up after he surrendered, claiming that it was to 'teach him a lesson he wouldn't forget'. They told him that this was what happened when you tried to escape. But the truth was that they were highly embarrassed and mad about it. That's why they'd hit him, not because they expected him to learn something. Just because they were angry. Idiots.

Robin wondered what had happened to Melina. He hoped she'd told the story he'd given her, otherwise those men might just take their frustrations out on her too. They'd be afraid she'd tell the boss what one of them had done, and that he'd be angry with them. They'd want to save their own skins. But if she claimed to have had no part in it, they'd probably leave her alone.

Robin sighed, then winced and lay on his side. Everything hurt. Well, not quite everything. The two places he'd been stung were largely healed, he could wear two gloves again.

"Well," Robin said to himself, "That hurt."


	18. Chapter 18

"You blithering idiots!" William Bernard raged, waving his cane like a menacing stick, "You simple fools! You stupid bastards!"

Melina stood quietly in the corner while Bernard raged at the three wranglers, his little eyes blazing with fury and his soft round face red with rage. She had told Robin's story. Fortunately, the man who had attacked her didn't realize she'd taken his keys. He had no idea how Robin had escaped, and probably guessed he'd simply been too close to the cage. In any case, he wasn't about to admit the truth.

"Why do I even pay you if you're going to let him slip through your fingers!?"

"Mr. Bernard, sir," one of them spoke up hesitantly, "We caught him before he got out of the basement. He's locked up, safe and sound."

"You realize you beat him to within an inch of his life, don't you!?" Bernard shouted, "HE IS NO GOOD **_DEAD_**, you imbecile!"

He rapped the nearest man on the head sharply with the end of his cane. The man flinched and stepped back out of range, putting a hand up defensively.

"If the offspring dies, the parent will abandon it!" Bernard practically screamed, "We lose the bird, and we'll lose the bat for sure. Do you fools know what that means!?"

It was clear that none of them did. The fact was, they would be happier if Batman weren't here at all. They had no illusions, they knew they were criminals. And too, they knew exactly how Batman dealt with their kind.

Melina trembled where she stood. William Bernard frightened her.

She had thought it was awe, but realized only now that it had always been fear. Much as she tried to deny it, Robin's words rang true. She couldn't ignore what he'd said, no matter how hard she tried.

And too, there was the incident downstairs. He'd come to her defense, even knowing he could not escape. She believed he'd even known that these men would hurt him as a result. He could have sat back and watched, avoided the pain, kept the key for himself, for when he had a chance to escape. But he hadn't. He'd fought for her, with no thought for himself.

William Bernard claimed that nobody had a choice, that everyone was motivated only by survival. If that were true, why had Robin acted as he did? It didn't make any sense. He could have been killed.

_For her._

In a way, it made her mad. It was forcing her to rethink everything about herself, about her life.

She was sixteen years old. Her mother had abandoned her on the street when she was three. She'd been bounced from foster home to foster home, until eventually she ran away. William Bernard had found her on the street. He'd cleaned her up, gotten her off the drugs she'd been taking, and given her a place to stay. She'd lived here for three years with other girls and young women like her.

They owed Bernard everything. Or at least, she'd thought they did.

Better to have a warm bed, good food and a sense of purpose. She lived to serve Bernard, fighting for his attentions. His eyes wandered. He let the girls fight over him, each seeing his attentions as the measure of their worth. None of them said that, or would even admit it out loud. But it was true.

Sometimes he would throw one of them out because he'd acquired a new, prettier girl. They all fought continuously to not be the least favorite. None of them wanted to go out and face the world, or go back to the street where he'd found them. They needed him to love them.

At least, that's what Melina had believed. Bernard had even said as much.

"You need me, Melina," he'd said that night when he'd come into her room, after she had protested his advances, "You don't want to go back to that dirty back alley where I found you, do you? With the rats and the mangy strays. Without me, you'd be nothing. You _are_ nothing."

She believed him. After all, she'd been on the street, starving and drug addled. She knew those drugs would have eventually led to her death. And nobody would have even noticed. Nobody cared about her.

But was it really true? Was she really that helpless? Sure, Bernard could throw her out. But nothing said she had to start taking drugs again. Nothing said she couldn't try to find work, a place to live. She didn't know how she'd manage that, it seemed daunting and frightening.

But Robin was right. She could decide for herself how she would react to her situation. She didn't have to be the pathetic street urchin that Bernard had found so long ago. She could be different. She could _choose_ to be something different.

Melina wasn't quite ready to commit to that. She still felt intimidated by the idea of leaving this place, the only real home she'd ever known. But her view of Bernard was fundamentally altered. No longer could she respect him or live in blind awe of him.

He was detestable, just like the man who had tried to assault her earlier. The way he treated her was not okay. Not because she deserved better. Just... because... _because_... because it was wrong. It was not okay for him to treat _anyone_ that way.

She felt a twinge of guilt about her internal turmoil. She felt like she was being disloyal somehow. She couldn't quite convince herself the man didn't deserve her love. That she shouldn't idolize him. She knew in her mind, and in her heart, but she couldn't just let go.

Who was Robin anyway? Just some kid in a mask who lived in a faraway place. What did he know?

Melina bit her lip. Some part of her knew that she was just putting him down because she didn't like what he had to say. But, for the moment, she ignored that part of her.

He wasn't right. He couldn't be. It wasn't possible. She knew what she was doing.

* * *

><p>"I do hope you've learned your lesson," Bernard said.<p>

He stood as tall as he was able, his cane planted firmly between his feet. He looked down at Robin, huddled in the back of the basement cage. The overhead light was still on, which made for a nice change from the darkness Robin had been kept in. He looked at Bernard and tried not to express his revulsion. The wranglers were just bad people. Bernard was mad as well.

"You said yourself that people will do whatever they have to in order to survive," Robin reminded him.

"And now you've seen that was the wrong way to go about it," Bernard pointed out, "I trust you won't try that again."

"That specific thing? Probably not," Robin shook his head, "But if you think I'm just going to sit here and do nothing, you're sorely mistaken. Do you realize how boring being held hostage is? It's really _freaking_ boring."

"Well, you'd best find a way to entertain yourself that does not involve attempting to escape. It will only cause you more harm, and reduce your chances of survival."

"Maybe that's not my biggest concern," Robin snapped.

"Of course it is. Don't be ridiculous," Bernard said in a smooth voice.

"I'll do as I please, thanks," Robin said.

Bernard frowned deeply and tapped the end of his cane on the floor.

"What do you think Batman and I do every night? You think we go out and fight villains because of survival instinct? How does that track? If we were worried about our own survival, we'd just go somewhere else, or keep our heads down and hope we weren't the next victims of the criminal element. We would not go scampering about on rooftops during blizzards after crazy guys with insanely deadly weaponry and large gangs."

"You are concerned with the future of your city, just as I am concerned for mine."

"Yeah, right," Robin rolled his eyes, "You're only concerned about yourself. Because that's how you think, you believe everyone else is every bit as selfish as you."

"I don't think. I _know_."

"Anybody with that much confidence is bound to be wrong," Robin commented.

"That makes no logical sense," Bernard told him.

"Maybe people don't run on logic," Robin retorted, "Maybe nothing makes sense."

"You are more foolish than I ever could have imagined," Bernard said, "I thought surely you were a bright enough boy to accept the truth when you saw it. But you continue clinging to your archaic belief in choice and morality. You're one of those idiots, who will undoubtedly be the downfall of society."

"You believe in it too," Robin said.

"I do not," Bernard snapped.

"Then why did you kill Carver? Even if you had a reason, it was your choice to kill him. Nothing and no one made you do it. And why is Batman still here? Why is he looking for me? You think he has to do that? You think _you_ made him do that? You didn't. You _couldn't_. You can't make him do your bidding. He chooses to be here, and his reasons are his own."

"Shut up," Bernard said, his voice now sulky, "My killing Carver is of no consequence. As for Batman, he is here to protect his offspring."

"Oh come off it, Bernie," Robin spat, "That's a lie and you know it."

"Do not call me that," Bernard growled.

"Or what? You'll beat me up? Seems your goons beat you to it. Didn't do them much good. I think one of them may have broken his hand."

"Be silent," Bernard snapped, "You are out of line. Batman is here because I want him here. He is looking for you, just as any parent looks for their child."

"You've talked about that before," Robin said, "About the wildebeest coming back for its calf. But you should know as well as I do that isn't how it always works. Sometimes the wildebeest runs. Sometimes she rejects her calf. Maybe her instincts tell her to come and defend the calf, but she has a choice. If a bearded African cow has a choice, a man certainly does."

"Antelope."

"What?"

"Wildebeest. They're not cows. They're antelopes."

"Really? Huh. Did not know that," Robin shook his head, "But it doesn't change my point."

"And the singular term for cattle of unspecified age or gender is bovine. Cow is gender specific. Also, to be correctly termed as a cow, she must have had at least one calf. Before that, she is known as a heifer."

"I don't really think that's relevant," Robin said.

"This whole conversation is irrelevant," Bernard said, "You're wrong, I'm right; and you're an idiot for disagreeing with me."

"Ooh, not good with subtlety, are you?"

"Shut up."

"You know, you present this educated, super intelligent front, but then you resort to obscure trivia and insults when you don't like what I have to say."

"I'm going now," Bernard said abruptly, "Enjoy your solitary confinement."

"Oh, I will."

Bernard's feet made tiny noises as he stomped up the stairs. He slammed the door with vigor, causing the overhead light to flicker briefly. Robin sighed and shook his head.

He wasn't entirely sure why he wasted his time arguing with a lunatic. He supposed that maybe it was because he found himself with a surplus of time. Heck, he had nothing but time right now.

It couldn't last, he knew that.

He couldn't know for sure who would come out on top in the end, nor could he speak for what would happen to the extras such as the plane pilot and Melina. He didn't even know what would happen to him. He acted on the assumption that he would survive, and that he would either escape or be found by Batman. But, even if that wasn't true, it was undeniable that this whole thing couldn't last.

William Bernard was a madman, trying to exert control over forces he could not comprehend. He clearly believed in his own power to shape events, and manipulate people into doing what he wanted. But he did not understand the guiding principles that motivated all of the things he was trying to control. He thought he had everything exactly as he wanted it.

Robin knew otherwise.

The wrangler's comment about Supay was a clue. Evidently the big cat was not only in the right mood to kill, he had done so at least once. That meant he was _not_ under control. If he were under control, he would not be killing people.

The wrangler who had assaulted Melina was another. While Robin believed Bernard to be a rapist, he felt certain that the man would not accept any of his men doing that, especially not with one of his girls. He thought he controlled them, but he didn't even know what they were doing when he wasn't there.

And William Bernard had absolutely no control over Batman.

Things were spiraling out of control. Someone was going to get hurt, and very probably dead as well. It was going to happen. And it was going to happen soon.


	19. Chapter 19

**PART 3 – Decisions to Last a Lifetime**

"I don't get it," said the technician, "the signal hasn't moved in almost twelve hours."

"Maybe he's asleep," Bernard suggested.

"He hasn't been still for more than four hours at a time the whole time we've been tracking him," the technician objected, "So either he's dead or-" he shook his head.

"Or else we've lost him," Bernard growled.

"I'm afraid so," the technician replied, "He must have figured out the trace had to be on his clothing."

"Don't worry about it," Bernard said confidently, "He doesn't know anything yet. We still have him exactly where we want him to be."

The technician was not so sure, but he didn't say anything of the kind.

Instead, he simply said, "Yes sir."

* * *

><p>The sound of the door opening in the middle of the night woke Robin from a sound sleep. He shifted slightly, only half awake but already suspicious. He'd heard Bernard's tirade earlier, directed at the wrangler Robin had overpowered. Perhaps that man's wounded ego needed more compensation.<p>

Robin felt a tremor run through him as his body awoke to the possibility that he was in danger. He rolled over so that his hands and feet were under him. The top of the cage was too low for him to stand up, but he could assume a defensive crouch at least.

There was no light from the head of the stairs. The footsteps coming down were uncertain, but light. Robin twitched and relaxed his shoulders as he recognized the sound of Melina's steps and breathing pattern. Knowing what he was looking for, he could barely make out her thin silhouette in the dark.

He felt momentary annoyance. She'd scared him.

But then he wondered what had brought her down in the middle of the night, hours after the rest of the household had gone to sleep. It had to be well after midnight, maybe one or two in the morning.

As she got closer, Robin saw that she was trembling, and he began to note the ragged, uneven gasps which marked sudden inhalation. Her arms were wrapped around her and she was barefoot. She came to the cage and then turned away. She sank down against it, her back to Robin.

Robin thought about touching her shoulder. She was crying, and he wanted to do something about it. But he was afraid that would only serve to frighten her. So he did nothing, waiting in silence.

For over two minutes, the only sound were shaky gulps of air taken between muffled sobs. Melina wiped furiously at her eyes with the back of her sleeve, but the tears kept right on coming. She had to cover her mouth more than once to keep her weeping quiet. She looked like she was about to scream.

"You were right," She said finally, in a broken voice, "My God. You were right."

_Was there ever any doubt?_ He didn't say that.

Instead, he asked, "What happened?"

"I'm out," Melina told him, her voice very small.

Robin tilted his head. He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, but it had her in tears.

"Out? Of what?" Robin asked.

"Here. This place. First thing tomorrow morning, I'm gone."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Oh!" she sounded angry for a moment, but then just cried some more.

When next she spoke, she seemed to only be wounded, and upset with herself.

"You don't know. You have no idea..." she shook her head miserably.

"I know Bernard's a madman," Robin said, "What more do I need?"

"He wasn't always like this," Melina said, twisting the cuff of her sleeve with her fingers, "He was a good man. You know, he cared about things like the environment, world hunger, peace, all those things. And he wasn't all talk. He spent money. His money, not someone else's."

"Believing in causes doesn't make you a good person," Robin told her, "All the money in the world spent on peace isn't worth anything if you're cruel to the people around you. The relative goodness of a person can't be defined only by the causes they believe in and support."

"But isn't planting new forests or however they do it important?"

"What's that got to do with anything?" Robin asked, "It doesn't matter to me what else a man has done. If he goes around beating up young girls, he's a bad person. It doesn't matter what else he's done. Planting trees does not excuse mental and physical abuse of other people."

Melina sucked in a sharp breath, but Robin had one more thing to say.

"Paying money to feed people in other countries may seem noble," he said quietly, "But what's it worth when the man paying the money rapes the people in his own house?"

"I _know_," Melina whispered weakly, "I know you're right. I don't know why I try to argue with you."

"Asserting yourself is good," Robin said, "But only if you're doing it for the right reasons."

"He wasn't like this when I first met him," Melina said, "He was good to me, and the others. He was very kind. I never would have thought... I didn't think... none of us believed..." she trailed off.

She didn't realize it, but she had finally solved the puzzle for Robin. Now he knew. He knew exactly what William Bernard was doing. And why.

"If you don't want to argue, what did you come down here for?" Robin asked.

Melina turned her head slightly, so that she could see him out of the corner of her eye. She was still sitting against the cage, facing away. Robin hadn't moved from the back of the cage.

"Why are you here, Melina?" he asked when she maintained silence for a minute or two.

She didn't answer, but her hand went to the pocket of the robe she was wearing. She pulled something out, set it on the floor, and slid it back with her hand. Robin watched curiously.

His heart was pounding. He was pretty sure he knew what Melina had brought. But he didn't want to hope too much, because maybe she'd brought something else.

Before she could remove her hand, they both heard stomping upstairs.

"Melina!" Bernard thundered, "Melina! Where are you!?"

Melina quickly withdrew her hand, exposing the key she had stolen. It was just inside the cage door, a cold metal shape on the hard concrete.

"Whatever you do, don't come for me," Melina instructed, her voice unusually fierce, "I gave you that so you could get out of here. Do _not_ come for me. Don't come out of this basement. Not tonight."

Her eyes glinted in the dark as she stared hard at Robin. She hadn't known him for long, but already she knew him well. He could hear the anger in Bernard's voice. Robin's first instinct would be to protect Melina, just as he had done before. Which would have much the same end result. Except this time he'd be going against William Bernard instead of a hired thug.

"Melina!" Bernard was at the head of the stairs now, "What are you doing down there!? Get up here!"

Robin felt cold fury surge through him. Bernard had no call to use that tone of voice with Melina.

"Don't come for me," Melina hissed again, rising to her feet, "Stay in the cage tonight. Just stay in."

To Bernard, she said, "I'm sorry. I'm coming upstairs now."

"You damn well better," Bernard growled, "The bird almost escaped once today, and that's quite enough, don't you think?"

"Yes sir," Melina said in her usual subservient tone.

Bernard stood, glaring silently at the head of the stairs as Melina dragged her feet coming out of the basement. He stood so that she could just barely slip by him. And then he stomped down the stairs, telling Melina that he would deal with her in a moment.

When he came down, he saw that Robin was crouched near the front of the cage.

"What are you looking at?" Robin spat.

"What did you do to her?" Bernard asked, his voice cold, "You've corrupted her somehow. What have you done?"

"What have _you_ done, Bernard?" Robin shot back, "You've abused that girl. And now that she's starting to show a little personality, a little independent thought, you've gone and replaced her."

"What's your point?" Bernard demanded.

"You can't control her anymore," Robin said, "Nothing makes you so angry as having lost control. This isn't about survival, it never was. You didn't lure Batman here so he could protect your interests. You brought him here because you thought you could control him."

"What's your point?" Bernard asked, not even denying it.

"You think you're so powerful, so smart. You think you can control everything around you. Because you know so much, or think you do, you think you have the right to manipulate everything and everyone around you to suit your purposes."

"I don't think. I know."

"Give that line a rest, will ya? The truth is that you think you deserve all this. You've served the community for years, your whole life. You think that bought you the right to do whatever you want. Well it doesn't."

"I've worked hard all my life. Don't you think I deserve a little compensation?"

"You've always been sick, haven't you?" Robin said, "You just used to hide it, keep your thoughts in your head instead of acting out your fantasies. You always indulged yourself in those. They couldn't hurt anyone, they weren't real. But look what you've done."

"What is it you think I've done?" Bernard asked.

"You lost control. Of yourself. That's why Batman's here. You didn't get tired of crime. You got tired of being old. You mean for him to find you. But that's not enough. You want him mad."

"That's not true. Everything I said before... I meant it."

"Maybe you thought you did," Robin said, "But you laid out a plan that ends with you getting caught. And you're smart enough to know it. You've dealt yourself a losing hand."

"No. I have everything under control."

"You didn't get scared," Robin persisted, "You got old."

"You're wrong. You'll see. You'll see!" Bernard shouted, suddenly waving his cane, "You're absolutely wrong! I am in control! Everything is going exactly as I planned!"

"Really? So explain to me why you have a jaguar named after a God of Death. You know it has killed people already. You've lost control, and you know it."

"I won't listen to any more of this," Bernard snapped, turning and striding towards the stairs.

"Face it!" Robin shouted after him, "You've lost control of everything! Especially your mind!"

The door at the head of the stairs slammed, and Robin was left in darkness.


	20. Chapter 20

Sitting still in the dark, Robin heard Bernard yelling at Melina. Her soft voice rose to a level he could hear. She was yelling back. Bernard slapped her and she cried out. It was all Robin could do not to move. Even if he did, it would be a futile gesture. He'd be quickly recaptured, and Bernard would be angrier than ever. He couldn't help Melina now.

The yelling continued. Then he heard footsteps going towards the front door. One of the security men had come to help Bernard. Melina was being dragged. Robin heard the front door open, and then slam shut. The security man's boots clomped loudly on the floor as he returned to his station. Bernard went to the stairs, and presumably climbed them. The house was silent after that.

A deep yowl came from outside. Supay.

Robin shuddered. Had Melina been fed to the big cat? Or was she just on the porch, locked out of the house but unable to leave because of the prowling feline? He hoped it was the latter, otherwise there was nothing more Robin could do for her.

He waited for about an hour, to make good and sure the house was quiet, and staying that way. He knew he had to get out tonight. Bernard's control was slipping away, most significant was his mental control. His mind was fragmenting, he seemed less rational each time Robin saw him.

No wonder his plan hadn't made any sense. He'd told himself he just wanted to survive. The real thing was that he wanted control. He knew, on some level, that he was losing his mind, and probably had been for a long time. Was it any wonder he'd disappeared from the public eye ten years ago?

He was hiding, living in denial of the harsh reality that he could not control everything. He couldn't even control himself. Most people couldn't, which was a truth they chose to ignore. Controlling yourself meant sometimes not doing what you wanted. And most people didn't like that.

But what they liked even less was saying things other people didn't like. Doing right wasn't always easy. In fact, it was hardly ever easy. Robin knew that. Taking a beating, getting caught, keeping your secrets to protect the people around you... that was hard. But sometimes it was harder to say things which were right and true, especially if you didn't feel like you had the words.

Talking to Melina was one of the harder things Robin had done. He was so afraid he'd said the wrong things, or said them at the wrong time. He may even have just gotten her killed.

_Alright, smart guy. Was the key to your freedom worth her life?_

He clutched the key in his fist as though trying to crush it out of existence. That wasn't why he'd said the things he'd said. He knew that. But this was where those words had led.

Melina had made her choice. Now it was time for Robin to make his.

He slipped the key into the lock, and hesitated. Melina had told him to stay in the cage tonight. Maybe there was a reason for that. Robin tried to think of a good reason not to go now. But he could only think of reasons why now was exactly when he should be going.

At night, in the dark, he'd be less likely to be spotted, or at least less likely to be caught. Besides, the longer he had the key, the more likely it was someone would find it on him. And every second brought them closer to some chaos that Robin couldn't see clearly. He couldn't see the future, but he had the feeling of impending doom, and enough knowledge to support that gut reaction.

He did not want to be here a second longer than necessary.

Robin turned the key and the lock popped open. He pushed open the cage door and crawled out. He stretched and stood. Joints and muscles alike protested, he hadn't stood up straight in days, and everything felt bruised, cramped or strained. Especially in the chest area. It was impossible to pull in a deep breath without immediately gasping in pain (which defeated the purpose of the exercise).

Robin knew he was in no shape for a fight. He wasn't in any mortal danger. Heck, so far he'd managed to escape with nothing worse than a few cracked ribs. And the wasp stings.

He glanced at the sting on his elbow, which he couldn't actually see in the dark. The swelling was almost entirely gone, along with the heat in the area and the pain. There was a dark spot at the center, right where the wasp had stung him. It looked more like a bruise than anything. It wasn't really worth remarking on at this point, which Robin found a little unbelievable.

One of the most physically painful experiences he'd ever had, and almost all of the visible evidence was gone in just a few days. But internally... Robin was surprised to find himself shuddering even thinking about the wasp that had done it. He'd never felt that way when an animal bit, scratched or stung him before, and he'd dealt with a lot of the nastier ones in his time. The impression left by the wasp... that was something else again.

Frankly, he felt he'd rather tangle with the jaguar upstairs than meet the wasp again. Which was very confusing. The wasp had done little except cause pain. The jaguar could easily rip him to tiny pieces and then devour the remains. The human mind was an odd thing.

He shook his head. He was stalling again.

Melina's words rang in his ears. Something made him reluctant to climb the stairs. But what had she really meant? She'd just wanted to keep him from giving up his chance at freedom for her. Right? What else could she possibly have meant? Still, Robin hesitated.

_Get a grip, Dick. You've been sitting in the dark doing nothing for too long._

He went up the stairs swiftly, careful not to make any noise. Gently, he nudged the door at the top of the stairs open, almost surprised it didn't have a lock. He peered through the crack between the door and the jamb. Nobody seemed to be out there. He pushed it open. The hinges squeaked slightly and he froze, waiting for some kind of reaction to the unwonted noise. It had seemed deafening in the stillness of the house. But nobody came and, after five minutes, Robin relaxed.

He slipped fluidly into the shadows, feeling more like himself already. Out in the wilderness after the plane crash, he'd felt like nothing more than a victim trying to survive. Here (wherever here was), he'd been a mere hostage, another kind of victim, being used to get Batman.

But now, loose in the night, he felt like what he was supposed to be.

The first stop was the closet where all of his confiscated weaponry and utility belt had been thrown before he'd been tossed into the cage in the basement. He didn't need to take the time to organize. Everything had a place on his person. He could get his equipment in order in his sleep.

The basement staircase led up to the kitchen. Robin didn't examine the large place, he just got the impression of vast counter space, a sparkling clean floor, pots and pans hanging from the walls, from the ceiling, and just about everywhere else. An enormous fridge hummed away to itself.

Robin eased into the dining hall. He checked carefully, just to be sure Supay wasn't in here. The big cat was put out at night, and Robin was sure he'd heard that happen, but he didn't want to be mistaken and find himself suddenly a big cat's chew toy.

Supay wasn't there.

Robin crossed the length of the room and went through to the entry way, which was also deserted. He stepped to a point halfway between the staircase and the front door. And froze.

The front door was open.

For a moment, he couldn't process why that was especially alarming, even though instinct had rooted him to the spot, and made him crouch down warily. Something was amiss.

The first thing he noticed was that Melina wasn't on the porch. She must have come back into the house and left the door open. She couldn't have left because Supay was-

_Supay wasn't chained outside!_

The chain running around the building was there, as was the length that attached it to the collar. In fact, the heavy collar was there too, gleaming silver on the white steps of the porch. Robin could see a broken link in the chain collar. It has simply snapped.

The door wasn't just open. It had been smashed open. Claw marks ran down its surface, the latch had been ripped right out of the jamb. It hadn't been bolted, just the handle had been locked. On the wall near the door, the home security system had turned on a red light. It was buzzing quietly. The open door had tripped the alarm system, which was probably informing the police of the break in.

Robin wasn't interested in the police right now. What he needed to know now was where the cat had gone. He needed to know where it was, so he could try and avoid it. He also needed to find Melina. She had to be in the house somewhere. Or possibly dead.

Reluctantly, Robin went to the door and scanned the porch and surrounding area. There was no blood, no remains. There was no broken body lying in the hedges at the front of the house. Robin knew animal attacks were frequently so fast and so precise that there really was no blood.

In the movies, there was always gore everywhere, things broken, signs of struggle. But when you were hunted down and killed by an apex predator, they didn't mess around. You didn't get the chance to fight back. They stalked, they attacked without warning, they broke your neck or suffocated you with a bite to the throat. They didn't leave blood. Blood attracted other predators, and scavengers. To avoid that, predators carefully made no sound, and left no mess.

Of course, this wasn't like a predator in the wild. Melina probably would have had time to scream. Supay was in plain view, and she would have known when the chain snapped. She would have tried to run. And anyway, why else would Supay have broken in but to follow her?

Robin turned away from the front door and stepped into the house, wondering where Melina would have gone. He hadn't seen enough of this place to know where the maids were quartered. But she probably wouldn't go there anyway. Her place had been taken by a new girl.

Where would she go?

A soft, purring growl behind him told Robin that Supay had just found him. He turned slowly, cautiously. The big cat slid like black ink from the shadows into the light of the open front door. The pale light of the night fell in and outlined the cat, whose eyes glittered. His front claws were unsheathed, bright white in the night.

"Nice kitty..." Robin said in a soothing voice.

He didn't expect it to work. But sometimes you could calm a frightened or angry animal by talking in a soothing voice. Supay wasn't hunting him. If he had been, Robin probably never would have heard or seen him until it was too late. But that didn't mean the big cat wouldn't kill him.

All that meant was that he had a bit more time to think about how he was going to die.

"Good kitty... we could be friends... you don't want to eat me. I taste gross."

The cat ducked its head lower, then snarled and pointed its muzzle at Robin. He felt absurdly like a lion tamer, minus the chair and whip, as he slowly tried to ease away from the cat, towards the dining hall with its heavy oak doors.

Supay roared and lunged forward, angling for where Robin was going to be if he kept moving. Robin darted at once in the opposite direction, towards the stairs, calculating in less than half a second that he couldn't beat the black jaguar to the doors. Supay roared again, showing his fangs to their yellowed roots.

Robin was still again. He'd moved quickly out of Supay's way, but knew that fast motion would attract the big cat. Supay was toying with him, like a cat with a bit of string. Maybe if he was slow and uninteresting, he would bore the cat and it would go away.

_Now you're just being delusional, Dick. That cat is going to rip you apart if you don't do something._

* * *

><p>Batman had shed the transmitter as soon as he'd gotten a good lead. Or, to be more precise, as soon as he'd seen William Bernard outside a cheap bar. He'd intended to follow Bernard, and had succeeded in trailing him for some distance. But Bernard had taken a cab, which Batman had lost sight of at some point. When he relocated the cab, Bernard was no longer inside it.<p>

It felt like wasted effort, and Batman was frustrated.

He was out of leads. All the detective skills in the world wouldn't do him any good without clues to follow. And, right now, he didn't seem to have any.

The police band in the Batwing warbled to life. Batman was only half listening. Some house alarm had gone off. He didn't much care. He had better things to do than go after burglars in this city which was not his home. He had-... the radio got his attention when the address was read.

"I should have known," Batman growled, shaking his head.

It was the address of the Texas residence that William Bernard had sold. Probably to himself under an assumed name. It was so obvious, Batman couldn't believe he hadn't thought about it.

He wheeled the Batwing around towards the house. It would take at least ten minutes to get there.

It would be an uncomfortable ten minutes. Anything might be happening now. And, whatever it was, it could all be over in less than ten minutes...

"Hold on, Robin. Just a little longer."


	21. Chapter 21

The thick black tail of the two-hundred pound beast twitched irritably. It seemed to spasm, jerking rapidly back and forth along its length. It was unclear whether this was a display of agitation or if the action merely agitated the big cat. Either way, it resulted in Supay snarling and taking a swipe at the empty air in front of Robin.

Reflexively, he dodged back, flipping onto the banister, where he perched precariously, eyes on Supay. His new position seemed to momentarily unnerve the cat. He was overhead now, and probably looked bigger, aside from having the high ground, which was always an advantage.

But the cat's hesitation was brief. Then Supay leaped after Robin, forcing him to move. The wooden banister rocked, shook and made a cracking sound when Supay's weight heaved against it. Robin was knocked off onto the staircase. He rolled, intending to get right to his feet, but Supay dropped down on him.

He had expected the cat to hit like a two-hundred pound sack of potatoes being hurled across a room. And that would have been bad enough. But it was more like being struck with a cinder block. The impact flattened him and knocked all the breath from his body. Sparks popped in front of his vision, which swam and darkened for a moment.

Then the weight came off him. He immediately got to his feet and started to turn to face where he thought Supay had gone... and was floored once again. The cat slammed into him, spun him with an expert swipe of a velveted paw, and smashed him face down onto the stairs.

Then Supay leaped back again, growling menacingly. But Robin knew that if the cat had wanted him dead, he'd be dead. Supay was just playing. Not that Robin wouldn't wind up dead anyway. What usually ended a cat's game with a mouse it caught was that the prey animal's body simply gave out and it died. There was no question about it. If Robin didn't get away, and soon, the game would escalate. And it would continue building until he wound up dead.

"I guess I'm lucky you're so bored," Robin said into the stair rug.

One of the big paws patted at his legs. The cat was trying to startle him into action, to renew the game of chase. The playful swipe was enough to shove him across the stairs and into the banister. He hit it with his back. He hit hard. But Supay didn't claw him, just kept batting at him.

Sweet talking didn't seem to be the answer here. But maybe he could startle the cat, get it to back off.

"Get off me!" he snapped, without moving.

Supay roared. The batting stopped. Robin turned his head slightly. Supay was backing down the stairs, swinging his bulky head from side to side, snarling. Robin had the feeling he'd just made the cat mad.

When Supay reached the bottom of the stairs and began to turn towards the living room, Robin got up. He decided to go up the stairs. Maybe Melina was up there. If nothing else, there were rooms with doors up there. And at least one window he could climb out of. He wanted out of the cat's reach.

Something hit him at the top of the stairs. Supay had raced silently up the stairs and now slammed into Robin. Supay then began to slide on his belly, back down the stairs. But he hooked the claws of his right forepaw into Robin's boot. The claws sliced through the material, but didn't actually pierce skin.

Robin could feel the claw tips against his flesh, knew the needle-like sharpness of them.

One paw firmly on Robin's boot, Supay began to slowly drag Robin backward, back downstairs. Robin had no choice but to push himself back with his hands, or else the claws would really dig in. He couldn't just pull his boot off, the claws were right through it.

Supay was making a pleased noise, sort of a rumbling purr. Things were going his way.

Robin was doing a calculation. There was a railing at the top of the stairs, part of the upstairs hallway looked down over the entryway below. It was a narrow railing. Robin could hit it. If he jumped from the banister to the railing, would the cat follow? Certainly the jaguar could catch him out of the air. But he would probably overshoot his mark on the railing. Actually, he would probably bypass the banister altogether. He'd either run up the stairs, or simply leap over the banister and land past the railing.

That would get Robin a few seconds. But then what? He glanced up. There was a chandelier overhead. He could go from the railing to the chandelier, but only briefly because it wouldn't take his weight. Briefly might be enough. Maybe. If he timed it right...

Turning to look at the cat, Robin aimed a kick at his head and struck out with his free boot. Supay yelped in surprise, Robin's boot had hit him in the eye. The claws released and Robin was on his feet in an instant. He sprang lightly onto the banister, flipped to the railing.

Supay was right on top of him. The big cat took the stairs in a single bounding leap, and swung around to face the railing. As Supay lunged for Robin on the railing, Robin leaped to catch the chandelier cord. His intent was for the cat to miss, and fall to the first floor.

That probably wouldn't do much but hurt the animal's pride, but that would be enough to discourage further pursuit. But that wasn't what happened.

The razor claws of the jaguar's forepaws clapped around either side of Robin's right boot. They pulled him up short and he yelled as they dug in and he swung head down towards the floor. But the jaguar had a good grip. A very painful grip, but a good one.

The railing smashed as Supay's midsection came down on it. The cat planted his hind paws on the floor and heaved backward, yanking Robin back up to the second floor.

Even hanging upside down, his every attempt at escape having been in vain, Robin could appreciate the raw power of this creature. He knew leopards often hauled prey up into the trees. Prey that weighed as much, or even more, than they did. This was a jaguar, not a leopard. But then, Robin wasn't bigger than the jaguar, so maybe that didn't matter.

Robin couldn't hold back cries of pain as the claws dug in unmercifully. He was heaved back onto the second floor, and then dragged away from the edge. Further kicking accomplished nothing. Supay kept his head tucked, ears flat to protect them. Once he had Robin on solid ground, Supay caught him with his jaws as well. The fangs sank into the sole of the boot, and the claws still dug into Robin's leg.

Suddenly, Supay froze. Tension rippled through him. He made a curious sound and let go of Robin for a moment. But he quickly pounced, his forepaws driving hard into Robin's back, pinning him down.

But it was clear Supay was no longer focused on Robin.

Flattened on the floor, Robin struggled to see what Supay was looking at.

William Bernard's bedroom door was just a little way down the hall. And it was ajar.

With a low growl, Supay bounced over Robin and prowled towards the bedroom. All signs of play were gone. The smooth black body rolled silently towards the door. The head was low, the tail only barely twitched at the end, switching in small circles. Each paw was placed slowly, with great care. Supay was stalking. And now he was serious.

Robin sat up slowly, cautiously. His right leg burned where the claws had dug in. He wasn't sure he could stand on it, even if he had to. He watched Supay stalk towards Bernard's bedroom.

Desperately, he tried to think of a way to stop the cat. But all of his weaponry would only serve to make it mad. That's why he hadn't tried to distract it with a smoke grenade. He'd only frighten Supay, or anger him. Either way, it would only make things that much worse.

Robin dragged himself up, using the broken railing for support, keeping the weight off his injured leg.

Supay bumped his head against the door. It creaked. The jaguar drew back sharply, waited in silence. Supay obviously knew how to push doors open. But the sound unnerved him. Probably for the same reason it had unnerved Robin earlier.

Jaguars were ambush predators. Any noise could ruin the hunt.

Any noise.

Robin looked down at his utility belt. He had a birdarang that acted as a flash-bang. Loud noise, bright light. It would infuriate Supay, but it might also frighten him so much that he fled the scene and looked for a place to hide. Just so long as he had a clear shot to safety.

Supay was a wild thing. He would try to get out of the house. If the flash-bang hit in front of his face, he'd wheel, run down the stairs and out the front door. At least, that was the theory.

Robin pulled out the birdarang. He took aim. Supay was back to nudging the door, pausing whenever it squeaked on its hinges. Robin threw with accuracy, and the birdarang dug its way into the wood of the door with a soft clunk. Supay twitched his ears, backed up to look at the new object. He'd just started to turn towards Robin with a disapproving growl when the device went off.

Robin had closed his eyes and covered his ears, but the noise was awful. His ears rang, and his vision seared white behind his eyelids.

He heard Supay yowl and thunder down the stairs, crashing into the wall as he went, running blind. All traces of stealth were lost as the jaguar sought to escape this unknown and very alarming threat.

_What do you know? Cats like the unknown just about as much as people do,_ Robin thought.

Robin watched the big cat go through flickering vision. And then something hit him from the side. He felt himself going over the railing and instinctively grabbed for something, anything to halt his fall. What he caught was someone's shirt. Whoever had pushed him was coming with him now.

A heavy body rolled over him. The railing cracked outward and Robin rolled clear of it. He seemed to hang for a moment, and then began to spin in the air, grappling with whoever he'd grabbed. They smashed into the banister on the way down, then fell clear. Robin landed on top of the man who'd attacked him, one of the security men.

The noise attracted Supay, who had almost made it to the door. He whirled, thinking he was being pursued. Robin lunged backward, dodging the lethally sharp claws.

The security man groaned and started to get up. He never made it. Supay leaped onto his back. The claws sank into the man's shoulders and he howled, but not for long. It took Supay no more than a heartbeat to sink his long killing fangs into the man's neck, puncturing jugular and crushing windpipe, all in the same efficient bite. There was no spray of blood, the jaguar's fangs sunk deep, but blocked the flow of blood. With half closed eyes, the God of Death waited for his victim's soul to depart.

Robin had no time to react, no time to try and save the man's life.

Supay turned his glowing eyes on Robin. Robin knew he was no longer a toy or prey, but now an intruder at the kill site. Supay flattened his ears and dropped the dead security man. He stepped towards Robin menacingly and roared, long and loud.

Robin backed away, down the hall, then around the corner. As soon as he was beyond the cat's sight, he ran. His heart pounded, the blood rushed and roared in his ears.

He was experiencing a prey response, and he knew it. He had been confronted with a predator, and now he was running, seeking escape blindly. He'd had enough of this place. He just wanted _out_.


	22. Chapter 22

Only about three minutes had elapsed between the time when Supay first attacked Robin to when Robin blundered into the maid's quarters. All the girls were awake, staring wild-eyed. They screamed when Robin entered the room, but had stopped by the time he shut the door behind him.

The lights were on and Robin found himself blinded. He blinked, trying to adjust.

"Robin?" the questioning voice was familiar, but he couldn't quite see yet.

Someone was coming from the back of the room, pushing the others out of the way.

"I told you to stay in the basement!" it was Melina.

Relief flooded through Robin. He was so glad she was alive that he felt almost weak with it. Or maybe that was just the blood loss.

"I never do what I'm told," he gasped, trying to catch his breath and slowly sinking to a sitting position.

"Robin! You're bleeding!" Melina cried, suddenly rushing to his side.

"You noticed."

"I told you not to come after me. I told you!" Melina said.

She was trying to see the injury, which was impossible without removing Robin's boot. Robin wouldn't cooperate with that, so she just put her hands on his leg above the wound.

"Does it hurt?" Melina asked.

She was just startled to see him, and very frightened, but it was the dumbest question he'd ever heard.

"Yeah," he said, "Yeah, it stings a bit, now that you mention it."

"Oh, Robin. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. He wasn't supposed to go after you."

Robin started to tell her that it wasn't her fault, but the words didn't come because they were halted by a sudden, jolting realization.

"You set him loose, didn't you?" Robin said.

Melina nodded.

"Why?" Robin asked.

"I wanted him to kill William. I thought he'd kill me first, but he just crashed through the door. He set off the silent alarm, so the police should be here any minute. Putting an end to all of this."

"Melina..." Robin sighed, shaking his head.

He didn't have the words. It wasn't that simple. You couldn't just have wild animals do your dirty work for you. And it was doubtful the police would believe Bernard was holding a vigilante hostage in his basement. And none of these girls would admit to any abuse. But... what was the use?

Melina had already done it. It couldn't be changed. It had already happened.

Robin looked past her at the room. It was a small living room, with doors going off in all directions. Doors to their bedrooms, most probably. Nice setup. But sort of creepy.

Outside, Supay roared. There was the clatter of boots on the stairs, and then there was screaming. Guns fired off, but nobody had turned the lights on, so they were firing blind.

Robin struggled to get his feet under him.

"What are you doing?" Melina cried, tugging at his arm, "You can't go out there."

"I can," Robin told her, gently pulling her hands off his arm, "I have to go out there and help."

"No. No, you said everyone has a choice," Melina refused to let go, "So choose to stay here, to stay where it's safe."

"I did. And they do," Robin held her by the wrists firmly for a moment, "And I chose to wear this mask. I chose to be what I am. And what I am is a hero. And heroes don't leave people to die. I have to try and stop this. Because that's who I am."

"Robin, no!" Melina screamed, but Robin was already out the door, vanished into the night.

She sat down in the nearest chair, buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly.

* * *

><p>From his position above the buildings, Batman could just make out the police cars, their lights flashing, the colors splashing like blood on the pavement. Overhead, the sky was growing darker, clouds were flying in on a stiff, cold wind. Forked lightning stabbed at the night and the Batwing bobbed in the fierce wind. It wouldn't be long now.<p>

Batman glanced at the line of police cars, coming in response to the silent alarm. They were ahead of him but, if he flew recklessly, he might beat them to the scene, though not by much. But even a few seconds could make all the difference.

He knew nothing of the jaguar, of course, but instinct warned him that there was real trouble ahead, and that it would be better if he got there before the police.

Maybe the police thought it was just a burglar or something like that, but Batman knew better. There was no way it was just a thief in the night. No, there was something very wrong going on up ahead, and Batman needed to find out what it was. And _fast_.

* * *

><p>Robin eased his way into the foyer. He did not immediately join the fray, instead taking stock of the situation. It was pandemonium at the bottom of the staircase. There were too many people and too little light. It wouldn't be at all surprising to Robin if the men hadn't shot themselves rather than the cat.<p>

Lightning flashed outside, and the whipping wind had caught the front door and was banging it open and closed relentlessly. The silver lawn was flattened, a sea of short grass in the coming storm.

Robin had thought about all the ways things could come apart at the seams, and he had even envisioned a scene rather like this one. Except that he had not anticipated the cause. That probably shook him more than anything. That sweet, frightened girl had sent Supay on a murderous rampage.

But she'd done it for the same reason Supay had killed the security man: she was frightened. She didn't feel that she had the option to flee, and so she fought back in the only way she knew how. So had Supay. He hadn't felt at all threatened by Robin, and had just been messing with him. But the security man was a hated figure in the jaguar's world, one of the people who had held him prisoner.

Not that Robin had been able to fully appreciate the cat's gentleness with him. After all, he could barely move, thanks to the leg the cat had injured. Not to mention all the bruising from having been knocked down and repeatedly sat on. But it was essential to note the difference between the cat's attitude towards Robin and his feelings toward the other people in this building.

Easing along the wall, Robin found what he was looking for. He flipped the switch and the chandelier light came on, a sudden brilliance in the night.

Supay let out a pained yowl and bolted for the darkened living room. Like Robin earlier, the jaguar was blinded by the bright light. Only it was probably worse for him, because cats had such excellent night vision.

There was a pause in activity, then one of the security men noticed Robin. He swung his gun around and fired off a shot, which went wide even as Robin ducked to avoid it.

"Hey!" Robin shouted, "Am I really an important issue right now?!"

The security men hesitated, looking uncertainly at one another.

"Look at yourselves!" Robin exclaimed, "That cat's already killed one of you, and one of the wranglers. He mangled another and you've gone and shot the third one. Don't you think now might be a good time for a strategic retreat?"

Nobody moved or said anything, so Robin took a more assertive tactic.

"Get your people out of this building. I'll keep the God of Death occupied."

"But-"

"Get! You've got people to take care of," Robin hissed, nudging past the men towards the living room.

The change of light between one room and the next was dramatic. Robin stumbled over an ottoman and grunted. From somewhere in the dark came a low, vibrating growl. Supay had fled and was now in hiding, but felt threatened because someone was following him.

Robin didn't know if the big cat had been wounded, but there had been little indication of that in the foyer. It had been splattered with blood, but it mostly belonged to the men.

A kill site might be very neat and clean, but that had been a different matter. That had been a cornered animal swinging at anything that approached, with claws sharp and strikes powerful enough to cut all the way to bone. And Robin felt he should know.

The growl came again and Robin froze, trying to pinpoint it. He didn't really want to engage Supay, just find out where he was hiding and make sure he stayed there until everyone was out of the house.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Robin said, in what he hoped was a calming voice, "I know you're scared, and I'm partly responsible for that. But it's okay. We can just sit here, in the dark, quietly and-"

A deafening roar split the air. Robin ducked lower instinctively, but that was really only a sound defense against another person, making yourself shorter than they expected you to be so that they shot or hit over your head. It was not especially useful against a jaguar.

There was a crash, Supay had leaped off of something and knocked it over. He hit Robin hard, bowling him over and then rushing past him, towards the foyer.

Robin responded instantly, rolling and flinging a bolas. It was not the best weapon against something long and low, but the angle was perfect and the bolas caught Supay by the front legs, throwing him to the ground on his face. Supay roared, snarled, thrashed, kicked with his back feet, a barely contained black ball of raging fury. And he wasn't contained for long.

The bolas was strong, it had to be. Both Batman and Robin had used the device more than once to catch and hold criminals, even of the mutant or otherwise super powerful variety. But most of them couldn't take the rope in their teeth and rip with enough strength to snap the neck of a medium-sized prey animal, nor did they have the power to carry something even larger straight up using nothing to hold it but their jaws. Supay could. And did.

The rope broke with an audible snap. But Supay did not continue on his previous course. He had figured out that items like the bolas were thrown from somewhere, they didn't just materialize on their own, someone was responsible for them. Whirling, the jaguar screamed, its fangs flashing.

"Oh man," Robin breathed.

Supay had just determined that he was a true threat. There was no play in his eyes now. Now Supay meant business. The God of Death had turned his feral gaze on Robin.

Supay roared.

Six minutes had elapsed since the silent alarm went off.

* * *

><p>The night was alive with sounds and lights. Jagged lightning cut across the sky, which was turning pale behind its roiling sea of black clouds. The outside floodlights had been turned on, because some idiot had decided the jaguar might be afraid of the light in and of itself. Flashlights waved thin beams around as the security men searched the house, getting everybody out.<p>

There was a lot of screaming and shouting, thundering footsteps as people ran up and down the stairs, the slamming of doors as they were flung open and closed. Occasional shots fired for no apparent reason, possibly meant to frighten the jaguar and make it stay in hiding. Over it all, thunder rolled, drowning out all other sounds, vibrating windows and walls like an angry demon trying to get inside. Police sirens could be distantly heard, as could the shouts of neighbors at the closed gates who had heard and seen the commotion and wanted to know what was happening.

"This is not at all what I predicted!" Bernard was yelling to one of his men, who was firmly leading him from his bedroom by the elbow, "What's happening is impossible! It doesn't make any sense!"

"Nevertheless, sir, it _is_ happening," the man replied, "And we need to get you out of here."

"I don't see what the problem is. It's just a big cat. Containment has never been an issue before."

"Yes," the man argued, "it has."

They had reached the stairs, but were startled by a new sound, a loud, piercing shriek. It was the sound of the smoke alarm going off. The security men looked at each other and tried to hurry Bernard down the stairs. But he was a man who would not be hurried.

"This is all some kind of mistake. Human error is at fault. The plan was flawless. _Flawless_!"

"Obviously not," the man disagreed, "Otherwise this wouldn't be happening."

"What would you know about it? You're hardly more than a toddler. You couldn't possibly understand the scope of what I am attempting to accomplish here."

"Explain it to me. _Downstairs_."

"I need my coat and hat," Bernard said, turning around and heading back, "I can't leave without my coat and hat. Why, I'm practically naked."

"Bloody hell, doesn't he realize the jaguar's loose and his house is on fire?" hissed one of the security men, but the one who'd been addressing Bernard waved him off.

Now was no time to be losing their heads.

"It's not so hard to contain life," Bernard was saying as he stumbled around his dark bedroom looking for something, "Life doesn't like it, does everything it can to break free, but it _can_ be contained," he turned and waved his hat disapprovingly at the security men, "But even easier is to stop it. From the shrew to the crocodile, life is inherently fragile, and easily destroyed."

"Yeah, so the God of Death has been showing us," muttered one man to another.

"Supay is hand-raised, untrained. He doesn't know how to hunt or to kill. So why can't you regain control of him!?" Bernard shouted.


	23. Chapter 23

Supay's first lunge had brought him onto the coffee table. As his claws scrabbled for purchase on the glass surface of the table, one of his paws hit the television remote. The local news channel eagerly added its noise to the din. Supay whirled towards the television with a roar of fury, momentarily forgetting Robin in the face of this new threat.

He leaped at the television, sinking his claws into it and knocking it back with his weight. It tumbled to the floor with a crash. Sparks flew. With a yowl, Supay leaped away from the sparks, though he seemed more startled than hurt. The sparks caught on the rug, and the overly sensitive smoke detector in the living room decided to go off, ringing shrilly.

With a snarl, Supay turned towards the painful noise which came from above. He swiped uncertainly at the air, hissing in rage and bewilderment. All these noises seemed to be attacking him.

Robin watched, wishing there was something he could do to calm the beast down, convince Supay that he was in no danger. But there was nothing he could do except watch.

Supay struck at the air and displayed his fangs, warning off whatever was making that noise. But he was backing up. He couldn't see his enemy, and therefore could not attack. The tail twitched irritably, the fur along Supay's back rose in an angry ridge, puffing him up so that he seemed twice as large.

Suddenly Supay turned as though he would flee. Robin shifted, expecting to have to cut him off from the entry. But the jaguar turned on a dime and leaped. He hit Robin full in the chest and they both went back. Robin's back slammed into the glass of the living room window, which cracked, and then shattered with the combined weight of man and beast.

Robin tumbled into the hedges and tried to roll, but Supay was right on top of him. He slid backward onto the lawn, the jaguar a crushing weight on his chest. It was over.

Robin took in the flashing lights of the police cruisers as they swung up the driveway. He saw the running forms of strangers darting this way and that, not unlike moths around a light bulb. The shrieking of the sirens, the alarm, the screaming people, all of it blended to make one big noise.

Robin couldn't move. The fall had knocked the wind out of him, and the jaguar was preventing him from take a breath. It leaned down, the glittering eyes were just inches from his face. Robin stared up at Supay, feeling an odd sense of calm washing over him.

He wasn't afraid to die.

You didn't put on the mask, race through the night, take on the kinds of human monsters he did, and still be afraid of the dark. He had no fear of death. He didn't want to die, but that was different from being afraid. He'd fought hard to survive, but he'd lost. He accepted that.

_So much for Bernie's theories of survival instinct, _Robin thought vaguely.

Gray and black spots were forming in his vision, facilitated by the flash of lights in the dark. Lightning struck overhead, burning bright through the black. It briefly illuminated a shape in the sky. It was familiar, and Robin was not surprised to see it. Not that it did him any good now.

Batman had just arrived on the scene.

Distantly, Robin heard a voice. He knew the voice, but his mind was fogging over and he wasn't sure what it meant anymore. But it shouldn't be here. He tried to say so, but couldn't make a sound when he opened his mouth. Then, all at once, the weight on his chest lifted.

Supay leaped off Robin and went after a new target. He could have killed Robin instantly, but chose not to in favor of pursuing his true hate in life: William Bernard.

Bernard had just exited his house, only about half-dressed. He had his left arm in the sleeve of his shirt and jacket, but his right was bare. He had pants on, but they weren't zipped or belted as he staggered out between two security men.

When they saw Supay rushing them, both bolted.

"You cowards!" Bernard shouted, "What's the matter with you!?"

Robin watched Supay charge in slow motion. Robin had rolled onto his belly and was struggling to get to his feet. There were too many people out here, anything could happen. But he knew that only one thing was about to happen. The God of Death was coming for William Bernard.

This was the result of trying to keep Death itself in a cage. Because that was what Supay now embodied. Bernard had feared Death so much, he had attempted to keep it chained in his house. But no man could escape Death. Not forever.

In spite of his bravado, Bernard saw the jaguar coming for him and turned to run. He fled across the lawn, ignoring the front door and the police in his driveway, sprinting away from them all with surprising speed and agility, running away from everything. Supay's eyes lit up. A chase. Now that was what he'd wanted his whole life.

Supay paused at the driveway, disliking the gravel and the approaching police sirens. But then he bounded across. Bernard had gained ground, but it was a hopeless mad dash to nowhere.

Desperately, Robin struggled to his feet and took off after them. Overhead, the Batwing was swinging around, coming for another pass. Batman would probably do something this time, now he'd seen what was happening. But Robin didn't spare him a glance. It would all be over before the Batwing came back. That was the difference between animals and people.

People could fight for hours, for days, for years. With an animal, once an attack actually started, it was all over in seconds, one way or the other.

Supay had closed the gap between himself and his prey. With a deft paw, he caught Bernard's ankle in mid-stride. The man tripped and went down. Supay bounded past him and started to turn. Robin wasn't close enough to do anything, and neither was the Batwing.

But, as he approached, Robin heard a familiar buzzing up ahead. It was enough to stop him dead in his tracks. He simply halted, unable to make himself go any closer. Robin shook his head, furious at his own fear, but unable to do anything about it.

From out of the grass near where Bernard had fallen, a black wasp rose like an angry spirit. With an enraged buzz, it darted forward, latching onto Bernard's right arm and plunging its stinger in deep. It flounced away, buzzing angrily. Nothing happened for a breathless five seconds.

And then Bernard screamed.

The high-pitched wail brought Supay up short. The violent spasms of Bernard confused the cat. It was decidedly odd motion, and Supay found that unsettling. Bernard screamed, thrashing around on the ground and clutching his arm. And he kept on screaming.

Supay decided he didn't like it and dodged around behind Bernard, evidently hoping to take him unawares from behind. Robin knew that Bernard had forgotten all about the jaguar.

But Supay had made a critical error. He had failed to notice the wasp at all. And he had just leaped onto where it had landed, thinking itself a safe distance from its attacker. The wasp was not a nocturnal creature. It was cold, it was sleepy, and it was mad as Hell.

Supay yelped suddenly, stumbling back as the wasp shot up from the grass and caught him in the side of the face. He swiped at it with his right forepaw, which it also stung in passing. He staggered backward, shaking his head and beginning to mewl.

The wasp buzzed drunkenly across the grass towards Robin. With a sudden thrill of fear, Robin dodged to the side, not even looking where he was going or checking his landing. He landed on the leg Supay had torn up and it folded under him. He yelled out in pain, then lay trembling on the grass, watching the wasp fly slowly away, buzzing its fury to the world.

Bernard was still screaming. The jaguar was rubbing his face in the grass, mewling pitifully. Even Supay himself was no match for the sting of the tarantula hawk.

Supay rolled onto his side and pawed at his face, then yelped as his stung paw touched his whiskers. He yanked his right paw away and squirmed in the grass. Bernard was still lying on his back and screaming. Robin crouched on the ground, panting.

His back stung where glass had cut through his costume, his ribs felt more abused than ever, and he couldn't seem to get his breath. Blood flowed freely from the wound on his leg. But he didn't care.

He just sat watching the jaguar cry miserably, rendered totally helpless.

Reluctantly, he got shakily to his feet and went over to tie the big cat up. He knew the intense, disabling pain would fade fast. He bound the cat's paws, careful of the sting site. And then he muzzled the jaguar with a length of rope, making sure the rope was away from the sting on its face. The right side of Supay's face was already swelling, and the wasp had aimed perfectly. It had struck the jaw muscles.

Before long, Supay would have difficulty even opening his mouth. The sting itself might not be deadly, but its aftermath certainly might be in the wild.

Once he'd done that, Robin turned towards Bernard. He felt no sympathy for the man. Bernard was still crying out, kicking his legs in the air and clutching his arm like he'd been shot.

_I wonder how all that fits with your theories of reality,_ Robin looked past him.

Policemen were swarming across the lawn, somewhat baffled by the scene before them. They had probably expected a burglary in progress. Robin could see smoke coming from the living room window. The fire had spread fast. Of course, it had a good wind to carry it.

Robin spotted Melina clinging to the arm of one police officer. She was yelling at him, gesturing in various directions, evidently trying to explain everything that had happened. He wasn't listening to her. Not really.

The Batwing swept in and landed between the police and Robin. Batman climbed out and swiftly took the situation in anew. He started across the lawn towards where the jaguar lay, reaching into his pocket.

"No!" Robin yelled, getting up.

"Robin," Batman growled warningly.

He didn't need to explain it to Robin. The jaguar had killed. He had killed a lot. No sanctuary or zoo would take him. He was hand-raised. He could not be released, even in an unpopulated area. He would just starve. He would only die a slow and painful death. Left alive, he would be taken up by the law. There would be a court case, where he was held as evidence. It would be weeks before he would be destroyed. But Supay would die. Someone would kill him. There was no other possibility.

Robin felt a lump rising in his throat and he caught Batman by the arm.

"No. We can't do this," Robin protested.

"I don't like it any more than you do. But this animal is already sentenced to death," Batman said, "I see no reason to make it suffer more than it obviously has already."

"He doesn't have to _die_," Robin said, refusing to let go of Batman's arm.

"He tried to kill you. He would have killed Bernard if not for a fluke wasp," Batman said, and gestured, "Am I right in assuming he killed those men back there as well?"

"He was provoked," Robin persisted, "And if he'd been trying to kill me, he would have. He could have killed me a hundred times over in the last ten minutes."

In truth, Robin wasn't so sure he wasn't dying now. His head was spinning, and he was losing his grip on Batman's arm. His good leg was having trouble supporting him. He was exhausted, and bleeding badly. But he couldn't give up. He had to make Batman understand.

"Those men shot at him. And I don't even know what Bernard did to him. I don't even want to think about it."

"An insane killer is still a killer. You know that, Robin."

"You really want to go there?" Robin spat, suddenly angry for reasons he didn't fully understand, "Let's talk about that. Poison Ivy. Two-Face. Mad Hatter. Penguin. _Joker_. Why not kill them too?"

"Robin, don't go there," Batman warned in a low voice.

"Why not!?" Robin cried, "Why not go there! In fact, while we're at it, why not kill Bernard over there for raping young girls and killing his own employees in cold blood? Where's the difference? You tell me that!"

"You're hysterical."

"Damn right I'm hysterical!"

"You're not thinking clearly," Batman said, his voice growing gentle.

He could feel Robin's trembling. There was a lot of pain in the boy's voice, and also fear.

"Maybe I'm not," Robin said, dropping his hand, "But... I'm asking you. _Please_. Don't do this."

"You know there's no other option. This cat will die, one way or the other. This is the most humane thing to do."

"Wait! Wait! Stop!"

Batman and Robin looked around to see Melina running towards them, waving her arms. She came to a stop between Batman and Supay. She spread her arms wide.

"Don't. Please," She was crying, tears streaming down her face, "I'm the one who's responsible for all of this. I'm the one who unchained him. It's my fault. Punish me if you want. It was my mistake. But don't make Supay pay for my mistakes. Please. I'll do anything. Just don't kill him."

Batman stared at her, standing there in her nightgown, face streaked with tears, little body shaking with fear, lips trembling, but dark eyes fierce as any hawk's. She was serious about doing anything she had to in order to protect Supay from further harm.

"I'm sorry," Batman said.

Overhead, the sky cracked. A flash of lightning signaled the start. And then rain began to pour from the sky in buckets, drenching everything on the ground in seconds.

"I caused this," Melina repeated, her voice low as thunder, "Supay is my responsibility. I did this to him. If you want to kill him, you'll have to start with me."

Robin had taken all he could. All at once, he gasped and fell to the ground. The world seemed to go black, blacker than night. But the ground rumbled with thunder, and white lightning cut through the darkness. Rain continued to fall.

And then: Nothing.


	24. Chapter 24

"I'm afraid I don't understand what Wayne Enterprises wants with a ghost town. It was farmland once, but now everything is overgrown. It's practically a jungle. A twelve hundred acre jungle. All the buildings are run down. There's nothing to build on. It's almost a wilderness."

"That's perfect," Bruce said with a winning smile.

The real estate agent frowned. She was a pretty young woman, but obviously too practical of mind to imagine what Bruce Wayne might want with this property. Her black hair was perfect, not a strand out of place. Her makeup was natural-looking and hardly noticeable. Her attire was exactly what it should be for her line of work. Everything was exactly right, perfectly spotless.

"It's no place for a resort," she persisted, "It's too far from any other towns. And the humidity is murderous. I really think that you'd be better off-"

"Veronica," Bruce interrupted, "It is Veronica, isn't it?"

He knew that was her name, but the question drew her up short. He didn't wait for her to answer.

"I have a lot of money," Bruce said, "More than I know what to do with sometimes. And, every now and then, I like to just... try something new. If it doesn't pan out, oh well, I can afford it."

Veronica's dark eyes brightened. She was curious. She wanted to know exactly what Bruce's plan for the place was. But he wasn't going to tell her.

"Don't you think I have the right to waste my money how I like now and then?" Bruce asked.

"Well, if that's really what you want to do-"

"It really is."

"Well, I guess all that's left is to draw up the papers."

"Hey, that's fantastic!"

* * *

><p>"I don't get why anyone would want a fence like this. I mean, really, what's the guy trying to keep out with a thirty foot fence in the middle of nowhere? And not just any fence. This is real solid fencing, and I know what I'm talking about."<p>

Denny Walker did know what he was talking about. He had installed fencing around just about everything. He knew fence. From simple privacy fence for keeping neighbors from prying to fence for keeping wild horses confined. He was familiar with installing tall fences with barbed wire around the top to keep people from climbing over, and electrified fences for similar purposes.

But always it was meant to keep something in or out. He couldn't fathom what you'd be keeping in or out in this desolate area. It didn't make any sense.

"That's not what we're here for. Warden asked for volunteers, you volunteered."

"Yeah," Denny replied, "But I didn't expect to be so closely supervised. I expected a day out, not heavy labor."

The other man just looked at him. He was some kind of pilot from Gotham, Denny didn't know him very well. All he knew for sure was that the guy was also a criminal, just like Denny. He'd been caught and imprisoned, and had volunteered for this. The guy didn't know a thing about fencing and was about as fit as a banana slug, but he did seem to have a work ethic. More than Denny.

"All I know is that Wayne Enterprises wants this property fenced, and they're paying to have us build the fence. Appreciate it, Denny. It's a chance to do honest work for a change."

Denny eyed the tubby pilot for a long moment. It was clear to him that this guy intended to go straight. Denny couldn't imagine why. The guy had a short sentence, and would be out in no time on parole due to his excessively good behavior. It was a singularly unspectacular stay in prison, nothing to get shook up about. It was one thing to clean up your act until you got clear, but it was pretty evident that this man had no intention of ever making easy money again.

Denny didn't know or much care why. He had his own problems.

* * *

><p>Two weeks had passed since that fateful night.<p>

Melina had been placed in a juvenile detention facility. She had come clean about what she'd done in setting the jaguar loose. She had admitted that her intent was for people to die. She had been exceedingly clear on that point. She wanted no mistake: she had known what she was doing.

In some ways, she wasn't sorry. She wasn't sure whether or not she was sorry that Bernard had survived in the end. She supposed it was greater punishment for him to be arrested. He'd been trying to die all along, she was sure of it. While he'd been attempting to deny death, he had been taking progressively greater risks which would inevitably lead to his own destruction. He had wanted to die in a dramatic way. Now he was just in an asylum with all the nuts just like him. That had to hurt his ego.

But Melina was sorry that she had used Supay in her effort. The big cat had suffered enough without her involvement. Now the poor creature was going to be sentenced to death, if it wasn't dead already. And all because she had turned him loose. She had acted irresponsibly.

Robin was right. She'd been using Supay to do her dirty work for her.

In the two weeks she'd been here, no one had come to visit. It wasn't a surprise. She'd never been close to the other girls, and she had no friends or family. Nobody was interested in Melina Guevara.

She wondered what had happened to Robin after the fact. Batman had put both boy and jaguar in the Batwing and taken off. Melina hadn't heard anything about Robin since, even though she had been trying to get all the news out of Gotham, which wasn't easy.

Gotham was a long way from here. But she knew that's where Batman and Robin had gone. Robin hadn't shown up in the news even once. Batman had, but that was no surprise.

He was Batman.

Melina was sorry about that too. If not for her, Robin wouldn't have been hurt. Well, he wouldn't have been hurt quite so much. His collapse had been her fault too.

Melina was sitting on a couch in the common area, idly watching the news. But she wasn't listening. More and more, she was tuning out everything. She didn't care about any of this stuff. None of it was important. Who cared what the weather was like in Istanbul? What did it matter which Celebrity had a baby with which Actor? Who cared who won the Wheel of Fortune last night? What did any of that matter? None of it meant anything.

"Melina?" she ignored the voice at first, but looked up when her name was repeated, "Melina Guevara?"

She looked over her shoulder and saw a man standing in the doorway. Tall, dark-haired, classically handsome, with a winning, almost boyish smile. She recognized him at once. Bruce Wayne.

"What do you want?" Melina asked with only mild interest.

"You and I have a mutual friend," Wayne said, his hands in his pockets, "And that friend tells me that my newest acquisition needs someone to care for it full time."

"What makes you think I'm qualified to care for anything? Look at me, I'm a mess. I can't even take care of myself."

"I think we both know that's not true, Melina. You've been mistreated and forgotten, but you're still here. You're a survivor, Melina."

"So what?"

"How would you like to live out in the country? Way out, where no one would bother you anymore."

"For what price?" Melina asked.

"Just that you help me with this," he pulled a hand from his pocket and held out a photograph.

Melina got up, went over and took the photo. She instantly recognized the face in it. She stared at Wayne with wide eyes, hardly daring to believe what she was hearing. She was suddenly very interested.

"You wouldn't be entirely alone. You'd live in a house, along with a small crew who would maintain the fence and grounds, a housekeeper, things like that. You'd have a phone and internet access."

"I don't care if I have to live in a cave and eat worms," Melina breathed, her eyes shining, "Just tell me this is true. Just tell me this means what I think it means."

"It means exactly what you think," Wayne said, "But, it's no small task. I fully expect our friend to live for at least another ten years, maybe more. That's a long time."

"I don't care. All I care about is that he gets to live."

"Good," Wayne said, with a small smile, "I was hoping you'd feel that way."

"How else could I feel? I'm responsible for no one wanting to help him. And I know what it's like for nobody to love you or believe in you. To think no one ever could. To be so full of hate an fear that you can't even see it when someone finally does care about you."

"Everything's all set up," Wayne said, "I have the layout blueprints, if you want to see them."

"Oh yes," Melina said eagerly.

Wayne handed her some rolled up papers and she took them and laid them out on the nearby table.

"See, these are the living quarters for you and the staff," Wayne pointed, "And here is the pen for feeding. The gate closes automatically, so you'd be perfectly safe. There will be an expert on the premises at all times, so you don't need to worry too much about exactly what food is needed. That will all be worked out between you."

"I see," Melina nodded, "And what's this structure here?"

"The area lacked any good rock formations. No caves or anything like that. That is a new addition. I'm told that the top gets a good view of the area. And, of course, our friend may take up hunting the local wildlife. There's no telling how much he can accomplish, given the chance."

"I think that's up to him," Melina said.

"That's right. It will always be his choice, once he's set loose. For the first month or so, he'll be kept in a holding pen here, just to make sure he's adjusting to the new climate and everything."

"Oh," Melina said, worried now, "What if he doesn't?"

"I think he will. But, if not, I can always buy another patch of ground. I'd rather it be here, since it's closest to the environment he was raised in, so the animals of the area and the weather conditions should be familiar to him."

"I understand," Melina said, "But... why go to all this trouble? What's he to you?"

"Just someone who's had more tragedy in his life than a little. He's damaged and, right now, he thinks nobody understands him or cares anything about him. He's scared and alone. I remember what that's like."

Melina looked up at Wayne, whose face was momentarily darkened by some ancient sadness. Melina could feel it. And she shared it. She too knew what being alone was like.

"So," Wayne said, his face brightening, "I want you to pack your bags, you're leaving in the morning."

"But what about the people here? What I did? I don't have a legal guardian."

"You just leave all that to me, Melina," Wayne said, and then he smiled for her.


	25. Chapter 25

_**A/N: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. It was a definite and unexpected thrill to see so many familiar names. I can think of no higher compliment for an author than for their audience to return for a new story. It's one thing to read a story to the end, just to see how it turned out, but you guys voluntarily read another story. A story from a series I have never even written for before. So thank you, that was wonderful. And thank you also to the new names, I hope to see more of you.  
><strong>_

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><p>The black jaguar's sleek coat gleamed in the light. Out here in the sun, it was easy to see the underlying golden with its strong black rosette patterning. Supay looked okay. He looked better than that, actually. He looked absolutely wonderful.<p>

He was thriving in the large holding pen. It was well equipped. There was the trunk of a dead tree set up on one side, which Supay could scratch on, and also perch on top of. There was a magnificent stone structure that had many spots to perch, including a landing in front of a cave about three feet off the ground. There was a large sack with stuffing, which Supay used to simulate kills, his massive fangs sinking in deep for what would be a killing bite. The soft material did not exemplify the sheer power of Supay's jaws. The jaguar could bite through the skull of a fairly good sized animal. Supay never had, but he was clearly itching for the opportunity. There was a small pool of water for Supay to splash in, but out in the fenced wilderness was a lake, where he would be able to swim and fish if he wanted. Jaguars loved water, and Supay was no exception.

Melina stood watching him, amazed at how different he was without a chain to hold him. The fur around his neck was short and scruffy where the chain had rubbed, and might never grow back properly. But the physical scars were minimal, and Melina knew that they did not define him.

Melina hadn't had any second thoughts about this. She didn't toss and turn at night, wondering if this was the right decision. She had a choice. She could either ignore this magnificent creature, or she could help him.

Carver had taken him from his jungle home. Bernard had tortured and imprisoned him. But Melina had played her role as well, doing nothing to free him, and eventually condemning him to death for her own selfish purposes.

Now, through the generosity of Wayne Enterprises, both she and the big cat were getting a second chance. She had options, but this was the only one she wanted. This is where she should be, she could feel it in the air around her. This was home.

"You ready for this?"

Melina turned in surprise. Robin was perching on a section of fence behind her, looking down with bright eyes. It seemed odd to see him in broad daylight, and so far from Gotham.

"Robin!" Melina exclaimed, "Are you alright?"

"Obviously," Robin chuckled warmly, "I only fainted. No biggie."

"From blood loss," Melina pointed out, "That's a big deal."

"Eh," Robin shrugged, "Anyway, back to you. I hear today's the big day."

"Yes," Melina sighed, turning back to Supay, "And, I don't mind telling you, I'm scared to death."

"Of what? The fence is thirty feet tall. Granted, that's no guarantee."

"Oh I know it's possible for him to escape. But that's unlikely. It's not what I'm worried about."

"No?"

"No," Melina shook her head, "I'm worried I'll never see him again."

She stepped closer to the fence. With a loud purr, Supay bounded over and rubbed against the fence.

"He's beginning to trust me," Melina said, "I've been feeding him, and he's been so much happier here. It's amazing how fast he's recovering from his trauma. But..." she trailed off.

"You're afraid if you let him go, he'll forget you."

Melina said nothing, but nodded mutely.

"Melina," Robin said, swinging down off the fence to land silently beside her.

She turned to look at him, biting her lower lip, determined not to cry.

"He is a wild thing. We both know what comes of trying to contain him. He needs space to roam, to be whatever he chooses. Whether he comes back or not is up to him. It has to be. If he loves you, he'll be back."

"And what if he doesn't?" Melina asked.

"Don't worry," Robin touched her cheek gently, "There are a lot of other big cats out there."

"More fish in the sea?" Melina raised an eyebrow, still fighting tears.

"It won't be the end of the world if he leaves you," Robin said, "If he takes off and gets killed, or hunts on his own, or only comes to eat when you're not around... so what?"

"He's... well... the center of my world," Melina said.

"But he is not what defines you," Robin told her, "He may leave and not come back. But you'll still be here. You'll still be free to choose who you want to be, what you want to do."

"I'm not like you," Melina said, taking his hand away, but holding onto it, "I can't swing through the city in the dead of night, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. I don't have friends like Bruce Wayne. Don't even try to deny it. You know him. That's the whole reason Supay and I are here."

Robin didn't deny it. It was true.

"I don't have anything," Melina said, "Except him," she nodded towards Supay.

"We've been over this," Robin told her, "You can't get your sense of self worth from other people... or cats either. You can devote your entire life to someone, and they'll never love you for it. That's how the real world is. What you need to do is realize that. You can't substitute Supay for Bernard."

"I'm not-" Robin cut her off.

"You _are_."

Melina glared at him, but he stared back impassively. He was right. She hated him for it, but he was right. And he was holding his ground about it because he cared about her. He wouldn't say these things if he didn't. He'd let her continue on the way she was, on towards that self-destructive, self-deluding path she had been on when they'd first met.

"So what do I do?" Melina asked.

"That's up to you," Robin said, "No one can choose how you live your life for you. That's something you have to figure out for yourself. But you've got to realize that it's your choice. It doesn't matter what Supay does or doesn't do. What matters is what _you_ do."

"We're never going to have a conversation where we don't fight, are we?" Melina asked, finally letting go of Robin's hand.

He smiled and shook his head, "Probably not."

"Alright," Melina sighed, "Let's do this."

She turned towards the small building near the enclosure. It was not really a building, just enough of a shelter to protect the machinery from weather damage. She pressed the red button on the control panel, and a buzzer sounded. She looked out the glass window of the structure at the holding pen.

Supay was pacing in rapid circles, flicking his ears in agitation. He'd heard the sound. He didn't like it. It was upsetting him, but it couldn't be helped. And then the gate which led to the outside began to slide open. Supay hissed and backed up, uncertain of the moving object.

The gate rattled as it slid open. Melina exited the building and went around so that she could see the holding pen better. Supay flicked his tail and snarled at the gate. But then it was open, and became silent. Supay glared at it for a long moment. But then he looked past it.

He'd been gazing through the fence for a long time now. The small holding pen wasn't big enough to satisfy him. That was the long and the short of it. He was too confined, even now.

Cautiously, Supay stepped towards the open gate. He put his head down and sniffed warily. Then he walked into the opening left by the gate. He stood uncertainly, his ears flicking as though he was hearing the sounds beyond the enclosure for the very first time.

He looked over his shoulder at his temporary home, as though unsure of himself.

"Go on," Melina whispered, but didn't think he heard her, "Go explore your home."

Supay swung his head and roared, a warning to anything and everything in hearing range.

And then he padded slowly out of the enclosure. He soon picked up speed, until he was moving at a swift, smooth lope, looking like liquid ebony in the sun. He angled towards the shadows, lowering his body and picking up speed. He'd spotted something in the distant underbrush.

And then he was gone from sight. Melina covered her mouth and fought against tears.

She couldn't help it. Despite what Robin had said, she wanted Supay to come back. It would mean the world to her if he would only come back.

He wasn't a pet. She didn't need him to come when she called or sit in her lap or let her pet him. But to see him every day, to know he was still alright... that was all she wanted.

Only time would tell whether or not that was too much to ask.

"What will I do without him?" Melina asked.

But she received no answer. When she looked around, she saw that Robin was gone.

"Supay's not the only wild thing around here," Melina told the empty air.

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><p>It was the middle of the night when Melina heard it. It woke her from a sound sleep. A low roar. She knew the sound well. It was Supay. He often roared, claiming his territory with his voice. But the house was outside the fenced area. Melina knew the roar carried for some distance, but it seemed very loud.<p>

She got up out of bed and went to the window. She peered into the moonlit night. Just a few yards away was a section of the fence surrounding Supay's new home.

At first, she didn't see anything but the low grass. The trees and heavy brush were cut back from the fence. There were motion activated cameras throughout the enclosure so that they could keep track of Supay, and make sure he was far away from where maintenance crews were working.

Then, out of the grass came a shadow. Not just a shadow. It was a jaguar. The jaguar. Supay. It took her a moment to realize that because he was backing, dragging something. Something large. Supay moved out of view.

Throwing on a robe, Melina quickly left her bedroom and went to the large sun room which overlooked a good portion of the enclosure. From there she could see the holding pen and the feeding area. And she saw that Supay was dragging his prize into the holding pen, which she'd left open.

He dragged it up on top of his rock house. He had a large animal clamped in his jaws, but he sprang lightly from rock to rock until he reached the top. A shaft of moonlight cut down, revealing his catch to be a large deer. Melina wondered how he'd caught it.

Supay dropped it on the rocks and lay down, panting with exertion, but looking terribly pleased with himself. He tipped his head back and roared again. Then he yawned, displaying his fangs to the night.

"Thank you," Melina whispered, "for letting me know he's alright."

The future was far from certain, she knew that fact well. But, for the moment, Supay's looked bright.

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><p><em><strong>AN: If you enjoyed this story and want more of it, check out the sequel which will be/was posted starting in February. **__**I hope you enjoyed it, thanks again and goodnight everybody.**_


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